A Wicked Way to Win an Earl (21 page)

“Then I have no hesitation at all in encouraging Lily to accompany you to London,” Delia replied with a smile. “It's a wonderful adventure for her. Lily will make the most of this opportunity without ever causing you a moment's concern.”

Lady Carlisle raised one fine, dark eyebrow. “The invitation was extended to you, as well, Miss Somerset. My daughters have such pleasure in your company.”

Delia's face fell.

The trouble isn't your daughters, my lady. It's your son. The elder has rather too much pleasure in my company, and for all the wrong reasons.

But it would never do to say so, no matter that Delia was almost irresistibly tempted to confide everything to the
countess. She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out the truth. “You are very kind, my lady. But under the circumstances—”

Oops.
That wasn't quite what she'd intended to say, for she'd much rather believe Lady Carlisle didn't have any inkling of the circumstances she referred to. Delia bit her lip and tried again. “What I mean is, it would be better for everyone if . . .”

Blast.
It was impossible to lie with Lady Carlisle's benevolent dark eyes upon her. Fortunately there was outright lying, and then there was simply withholding the entire truth. Delia clenched her hands in her lap. “As you said, my lady, I have responsibilities at home. Our younger sisters need a steady influence.”

Not that I'm qualified to provide one
. Look at what a mess she'd made of things during her short visit to Bellwood.

But Lady Carlisle nodded in understanding. “Yes, of course. We'll feel your loss most keenly, though.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Delia rose from her seat and dipped into a curtsy.

She was at the door when Lady Carlisle stopped her. “Miss Somerset? I hope you will not judge my son too harshly.”

Delia froze. Her heart rushed up from her chest and lodged in her throat.

Lady Carlisle watched her steadily. “His father was a . . . difficult man. Alec, as the eldest, suffered the worst of it, I'm afraid, and since he became the earl, he's had to muddle through as best he can. He's made many mistakes, but most of them arise from his wish to protect this family. Indeed, he tries rather too hard sometimes.” She paused and looked calmly up at Delia, who still hovered by the door. “I'm sure you can understand that kind of concern for one's family. Can't you, Miss Somerset?”

Delia looked into Lady Carlisle's intelligent dark eyes.
She understood it perfectly. It had never occurred to her before, but perhaps in some ways she and Alec were quite a lot alike. “Yes, I believe I can.”

Lady Carlisle smiled. “I thought so.” With that cryptic reply, she retrieved her tea from the table and nodded politely.

Delia considered herself dismissed. She closed the door behind her and walked down the hallway in the direction of Eleanor's room, lost in thought. When she reached the family wing of the house, however, she stopped and looked around blankly.

Drat
. She was staring down a long hallway of identical closed doors. She retraced her steps back to the staircase and then walked forward again, counting doors this time, but it was no use.

She couldn't remember which room was Eleanor's.

Alec threw a handful of cold water on his face and watched in the glass as it dripped off his chin. He'd been disgustingly cup-shot last night. If there were any justice in the world, he'd be unable to move this morning.

Fortunately for him, justice was fickle, at best. Then again, he hadn't drunk so much he couldn't remember what he'd done. Or what he'd said. Or the look on Delia's face when he'd done and said it. So maybe there was justice, after all.

He'd been a complete bastard yesterday, but he'd outdone himself last night when he'd turned an already dismal situation into a disaster by acting like an utter ass. By his tally, he should beg the pardon of every person in this house for one thing or another.

He dried his face and pulled on his coat. He'd find Delia today and he'd beg her pardon. Period. There would be no touching. No angry fits or jealous rages. No kissing.
Certainly no kissing. He was an
earl
, damn it. It was time he started to act like one.

Resolutions firmly in hand, Alec opened his chamber door and stepped out into the hallway.

And instantly tossed every single one of them aside.

Delia stood there alone, about to knock on a door across the hall.

Robyn's door.

Without any hesitation or conscious thought, Alec strode toward her, grasped her by the wrist, tugged her with him straight back to his room, and slammed the door behind them.

For a moment they stared at each other warily, neither saying a word. Then, almost as if he weren't aware he was doing it, Alec began a rhythmic stroking against her wrist with his thumb. “What are you doing, Delia?” His voice was ominously quiet. He eased her back against the door and pinned her there with his body. “Is this checkmate?”

She ignored both questions. “I can't be in your bedchamber with you, Lord Carlisle.” Her hand began to go limp in his grip. “You know that.”

He turned her hand over and ran his finger lightly across the center of her palm. “But you can be in Robyn's bedchamber? I confess I don't see the distinction.”

“Robyn?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I was looking for Eleanor.” She made a halfhearted attempt to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

“Were you?” He began to draw slow, lazy circles in the center of her palm with his fingertip. “I'm not sure I believe you, Delia. I think you're pursuing Robyn, just as you threatened to.”

She shook her head, looking him straight in the eyes. “No more threats, Alec, and no more lies. The game is over.”

He pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss into the center of
her hand, the tip of his tongue just grazing her palm. A flush started in her cheeks, washed across her neck in a flood of pink, and then disappeared into her bodice.

Alec watched it, fascinated, and far too aware his bed was mere steps away. He raised her hand to his mouth and slipped the tip of one of her fingers between his lips. “It doesn't
feel
over,” he crooned wickedly.

A little sigh escaped her, as if she was overcome by the sensation of the hot, rough velvet of his tongue against her fingertip. She was trembling. “I'm leaving Bellwood, Alec.”

That got his attention. He released her hand abruptly and pulled away from her so he could look into her face. “What do you mean, you're leaving? You and Lily will accompany the family to London the day after the ball.”

She dropped her eyes to the ground, as if she were afraid to look at him. Did she think she'd see relief on his face? Triumph? “I promised Lily I'd stay for the ball, but—”

“You're not going anywhere,” Alec growled, cutting her off. “You will not walk away from me that easily.”

Alec knew he
should
be relieved. He should let her go and do everything in his power to forget about her. But he wasn't relieved. He was unaccountably furious. He caught her wrist again in a hard grip.

Delia stared up at him, shocked. “Walk away from you? But, but . . . I thought you'd be—”

Let her go. It's the only thing that makes sense. It's for the best.

But his reaction was immediate and from the deepest part of his gut.

One word.
No
.

“You thought I'd be what?” He was shocked to hear the fury in his voice. “Pleased to see you go? I don't even know why you started the game to begin with! This isn't over yet, Delia.”

She didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at him with an expression Alec knew he'd never forget. She looked so terribly sad.

“It doesn't matter why, and it
is
over.” Her voice caught a little on the last word and Alec felt his heart plummet. “It should never have begun. You know it as well as I do, Alec.”

He wanted to rail at her. Shake her. Shout at her it
wasn't
over. Not for him. But it was madness, this game. It had to end before anyone else got hurt. His fingers fell numbly away from her wrist.

But he had to know one last thing before he could let her go, because this would never be over for him until he knew whether or not she was in love with his brother. “What about Robyn?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“I never sought to engage his affections. I'm fond of Robyn, and I consider him my friend. But that's all. I—” She stopped, as if the next words were difficult for her to say. “I only said otherwise to hurt you. I beg your pardon for that, Alec.”

She was apologizing to him? She was saying she was sorry.
To him
. Her apology felt like a fist slammed into his stomach.

She turned away from him and opened the door, but then she looked back again. “What a reckless game it was. I don't feel like I've won. Do you?”

Alec watched, stunned, as she slipped out the door. Without thinking, he started after her. “Delia, wait—”

He came to a sudden halt as soon as he reached the hallway. Eleanor stood at the door of her room. She opened her door wider so Delia could pass through. “There you are, Delia. I've waited for you this age.”

Delia disappeared into Eleanor's room without sparing Alec another word or glance, but Eleanor lingered in the doorway, her eyes narrowed on him. “I'll see
you
later, Alec.” Then she closed the door in his face.

Alec walked blindly down the hallway, not sure where he was going.

He didn't feel like he'd won. He should have told Delia that. He'd see her again, at meals and at the ball tomorrow night, but he wouldn't tell her then, either. It was over, just as she'd said it was. There wasn't any reason to say anything anymore.

He should have kissed her one more time. He hadn't known last night would be the last time. If he had, he'd have made sure to memorize the taste and feel of her lips against his mouth.

The crushed rock of the pathway crunched under his boots as he walked. He looked around and realized vaguely that he'd entered the rose garden. He must have walked outside at some point. He didn't remember.

“What the devil—” He stopped and kicked at the ground, digging a little with his boot. His heel had come down on something hard, half-buried in the dirt next to an outside corner of the rose arbor. He leaned down to pull the thing loose, then turned it over in his hands and brushed some of the soil away.

He stared at it. It was a small statue of Bacchus. He turned it over and over in his hands and traced with one finger the rough edge where Bacchus's chalice used to be. It was missing now, a victim of a trampling by another pair of boots, a long time ago.

He'd never forget that day. He and Robyn had been home on a holiday. Robyn had been involved in some minor prank at school and their father, disgusted as usual by any sign of boyish high spirits, had taken Robyn into his study for a severe dressing-down. Alec lingered in the hallway outside the door, waiting as he always did for Robyn to emerge. But this time when Robyn came out at last, he'd been ashen, his dark eyes hunted.

Alec remembered it because it was the day he decided
he'd had enough. Enough of his father. Enough of seeing that expression on his brother's face.

The study door hadn't closed behind their father before Alec was leading Robyn through the house. They'd both grabbed small bits of statuary off mantels and tables and sneaked them outdoors under their coats. They'd built an intricate obstacle course on the far side of the garden, behind the rose arbor, so their father couldn't see them from his study. By the middle of the morning, Charlotte and Eleanor had caught on to the game, and the four of them had spent the entire afternoon running races until they were streaked with dirt and mud and their sides ached from laughter.

Bacchus had been a casualty of the events of that day. But Robyn hadn't.

He and Robyn had somehow lost their way since then. They were so lost, in fact, Alec hadn't spared a thought for his brother at all since Delia had arrived. Was Robyn in love with her? Would he be devastated when he found out she was leaving? Alec didn't know. He hadn't given any thought at all to how Robyn might feel. He'd been too focused on controlling the chessboard to spare any thought for the pieces.

What if I was in love with her? What if my happiness depended on her?

Robyn had tried to tell him yesterday, but Alec hadn't listened.

He looked down at Bacchus cradled in his hands and ran his palm again and again over the smooth stone. It was cold under his fingers. Alec had sworn all those years ago he wouldn't let his father or anyone else crush Robyn's spirit. It never occurred to him he'd need to protect Robyn from him.

“Alec?”

Alec's head came up. Eleanor stood there, an odd expression on her face. She took a deep breath and let it out. “What was Delia doing in your bedchamber?”

Alec stiffened. Eleanor had seen them, then. He wasn't sure how he could explain it to her when he didn't understand it himself, but if she'd witnessed him drag Delia into his bedchamber and close the door behind them, he supposed she did deserve an explanation.

Eleanor was waiting, watching him so intently Alec began to feel like an insect trapped under glass. “It isn't what it looks like.” It was a hardly an explanation, but it was the best he could do right now.

“Shall I tell you what it looks like?” Eleanor asked. “It
looks
like an incorrigible, wicked, and unrepentant rake dragged an innocent young lady into his bedchamber to ruin her. But that's not what it
is
, is it, Alec? That's not why she was there.”

Alec stared at his sister in disbelief. “Since you know so much, Eleanor, why don't you tell me why she was there?”

“Don't you
know
, Alec?” Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “Very well. You've been infatuated with Delia almost since the moment she arrived here. But this isn't one of your typical
amours
. Far from it, in fact. You dragged Delia into your chamber because you simply couldn't help yourself.”

Alec gaped at her, his jaw hanging open. He was damned if he could see how Eleanor knew so much about his affairs, but he couldn't help but be impressed at how perceptive she was. Still, she didn't know everything. “I've made a mess of it. I hurt her. I treated her like—”

“Like you couldn't keep your hands off her? Like she's the most beautiful and desirable woman you've ever known? I think she'll forgive you, Alec.”

He shook his head. “No. She's just told me she's leaving for Surrey after the ball. Nothing is going to come of it, Eleanor.”

Delia was leaving, and everything was going to go back to the way it should be. She'd go back to Surrey, where she belonged, and he'd marry Lady Lisette, just as he'd planned.
Robyn would go back to London and carry on as usual, and over time he'd forget about Delia. He'd fall in love with someone else.

“But
why
, Alec? Please tell me this isn't that foolishness about the scandal over her mother. It was ages ago! It hardly matters now, does it?”

Alec didn't answer right away, but looked down at the statue in his hands for a moment. “I thought it did, at first. But no. You're right. It doesn't matter.”

“I wondered why you made such an effort to keep Robyn and Delia apart when she first arrived,” Eleanor said. “You were trying to discourage a romance between them, weren't you?”

Eleanor hadn't missed a thing, it seemed. “That was how it started, yes, and now I've been caught in my own trap.” For one moment he felt an absurd urge to laugh. What perfect irony! Justice wasn't so fickle, after all, was she? She was a cruel, lying shrew, but she wasn't fickle. She'd dealt out an appropriate punishment.

“I can think of far worse fates than being caught in the parson's mousetrap with Delia,” Eleanor said, “especially since you're hopelessly in love with her.”

Was that it? Was he in love with Delia? Is this what love felt like? Christ. It was awful.
Hopeless
seemed a good word for it.