Passions of a Wicked Earl (31 page)

Dawn was easing in through the part in the draperies when Stephen rose from his chair with a wide yawn. “I’m going to bed. Wake me when she stirs.”

“Sit down.” His voice sounded as though a frog had taken up residence within it. It was dry and scratchy, and his body was alternately chilled and hot.

“Westcliffe—”

“Sit. You will be there when she awakens.”

With a groan, Stephen dropped back into the chair. His head fell back as he stared at the ceiling. “Nothing is to be gained by forcing me to endure these discomforts.”

“God help me, you do not deserve her love.”

“And you do?”

Westcliffe placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and began to rub his throbbing head. “No.”

“You have a care for her, though.”

Westcliffe held his tongue.

Stephen sat up straighter. “By God, you love her. Why are you not sitting here?”

“Because she called for you.” Every bone and muscle ached as he rose from the chair, crossed the room, pulled back the curtains, and opened the windows. Sunlight and fresh air. Perhaps they would help. The cool morning breeze had barely wafted into the room when he heard Claire’s faint voice.

“Stephen?”

“Hello, sweeting. You gave us quite a fright.”

Westcliffe glanced toward the bed. She was giving Stephen a soft smile while he toyed with the tufts of her hair. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her face and throat. He wondered if her fever had broken.

He was halfway across the room to fetch a maid to see to her needs when he heard her quiet voice. “Westcliffe?”

Staggering to a stop, he glanced back. She was holding out a hand to him. He didn’t know what she wanted of him, but he crossed back over to the bed. She looked so much thinner. Had she lost weight while they were separated? Or was it simply that she was diminished after surviving her ordeal?

They seemed to stare into each other’s eyes forever. Hers were as blue as he recalled, but the brightness had left them. Finally, she whispered, “The baby?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

She started to weep. Without thinking, he crawled onto the bed and folded her into his arms as sobs shook her body. He’d never known such pain, to see her shattering like this. His usually bold and determined wife, her heart breaking. He covered the back of her head with his hand, held her close, murmured reassurances. He was barely aware of Stephen slipping from the room.

He almost called him back, almost told him that it was Stephen she needed—but she’d called to him, had held out her hand to him. He could no more let her go now than he could cease to breathe.

Eventually, she fell asleep in his arms, exhaustion and weakness from her ordeal claiming her. He was awash in regret as he found a maid to see to his wife’s needs and sent another servant to fetch the physician.

Once he was assured that his wife would recover, he collapsed on his bed.

It had been two days since Claire had wept in Westcliffe’s arms. Since then, he came into her bedchamber every morning to ask after her health, but other than that, she hadn’t seen him. They were back to being strangers, and she was once again exiled from his heart.

Now sitting at a small table enjoying the light breeze of the afternoon, Claire sipped her tea. It seemed she had another ticklish spot. Her scalp, as the wind fluttered the short strands. She touched them self-consciously. She would need some new hats.

She was thinking of such silly things so she didn’t have to contemplate the loss of the baby. She’d already come to love him, already missed him.

She glanced up and smiled as Stephen sat beside her.

“I think Westcliffe has recovered sufficiently that we can begin our journey back to London today,” he said.

“Westcliffe—recovered? From what?” she repeated.

“I don’t think he slept from the moment he received the missive that you’d taken a tumble. Made himself ill.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t think he cared any longer.”

Stephen twisted in his chair and took her hand. “Sweetheart, why do you think I’m here? He forced me to come. In your delirium, you were calling for me, and he feared only my presence would save you.”

“I don’t remember. I remember thinking … before I fell from the horse … that I needed to speak with you. Why were you in the conservatory that night at Lady Anne’s?”

“She’d come to see me a few days before and issued an invitation for a
private
party in her conservatory. Said she thought it would be fun to have an intimate party with me while another party was going on in her residence.”

“I think she arranged for you to meet with me instead. I’d been dancing with Lord Lynnford. When the dance ended, before we could leave the floor, a servant said he had a message for me. So I followed him. He told me Lord Westcliffe had bid me to meet him in the conservatory.”

“Did you tell Westcliffe?”

“No, I didn’t think he’d believe me. I had no proof. I’m fairly certain she arranged everything to ruin things for us.”

“She succeeded.”

She nodded. “I don’t know where we’ll go from here.” She glanced back at the house.

“He loves you, Claire.”

She laughed bitterly, trying not to think about the tenderness with which he’d held her while she cried after learning she’d lost the child. “No, I think not.”

“He rode to London to find me—in the storm. He looked like bloody hell. When we got here, he wouldn’t let me leave that chair. He didn’t see to his own needs until he was certain you were all right. He does care for you, Claire.”

“He doesn’t trust me. He wouldn’t even listen that night at Lady Anne’s.”

“God, Claire, what was he to think? He found us together on his wedding night. And then to see us together again? I can’t blame him for what he thought.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe what we did on your wedding night. I knew your reputation would be safe because his pride would prevent him from telling anyone, but I hadn’t anticipated that he’d fill his nights with other women. That was incredibly unfair to you.”

She was torn between laughing and crying. “Perhaps deserved. We were so stupid.”

“You trusted me, and I—”

She gave him a wry smile. “Your plan worked.”

“A little too well I think.”

Reaching out, she held his hand. “I’ve missed you. Why didn’t you let me know you were in London?”

“I messed things up for you, Claire. The best thing I could do was stay away.” He touched her cheek. “I’m going to go even farther away.”

She stared at him uncomprehending.

“I’m going to be leaving England, Claire.” He bestowed on her the devilish grin she’d always loved, but there was a touch of self-mockery in it. “I’ve been told that I’m a man without character. I’ve finally come to believe it. My brothers bought me a commission, and like everything else in my life, I’ve not made the most of it. They’ve both wagered that in battle the enemy will see only my back. Can’t have them win that wager, now can I?”

“But you could get hurt or worse.”

His smile was familiar, cocky, daring. “Not to worry. I have the luck of the devil.”

Claire found her husband in the library, behind his desk, scrawling some letter, some bit of business. He immediately rose to his feet as she neared his desk and came to a stop.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She was acutely aware of his gaze roaming over her. She touched the cropped strands of her hair. “Light-headed.”

He flashed her a quick smile. “It’ll grow back.”

“I should hope so. I understand you were ill.”

“Exhausted, I think.” He shifted his stance. “I’m sorry … for a good many things regarding you. I … you deserve better.” Looking down, he touched the paper on his desk. “I’ve been working on wording a petition to go to Parliament for our divorce.”

Her heart very nearly stopped in her chest. “You told me that you didn’t love Lady Anne Cavill, that she doesn’t love you. You deserve someone who loves you.”

The disbelief, mingled with the sadness in his eyes, told her that he thought she was simply giving him trite declarations—to avoid scandal perhaps, to evade the shame of an unsuccessful marriage.

“Claire—” he began.

And she cut him off, taking a step nearer, desperate to make him understand. “If I called out for Stephen in my delirium, it was only because before I fell I was thinking that I needed to speak with him about our meeting in the conservatory. I was there because a servant had told me
you
were waiting for me. Stephen was there because Lady Anne had told him that she’d be waiting for him.”

“Yes, so Stephen told me. She wanted to separate us, and it worked. Some good can come of this. It made me realize that you love Stephen. We can find a way—”

“No!” She stepped forward. “Yes, I do love him, but it is the love of a friend or even a sister for a brother. It is not that of a wife for a husband.”

Taking another step, she staggered, grabbed the back of a chair. Westcliffe was immediately out from behind his desk, his arm about her steadying her. Releasing her hold on the chair, she wrapped her arm around his neck and lifted her gaze to his. “You own my heart,” she whispered, as tears welled. “I can’t tell you the exact moment you took possession of it. I only know that I long to hear your laughter, that I constantly listen for the tread of your boots because even if you are not in the room with me, knowing you are near eases my loneliness.

“I am willing to withstand any public ridicule or scandal so that you might find happiness. If indeed you do love her and cannot love me—”

“Claire,” he rasped, his large hand cradling the back of her head, holding her tightly. “How can I not love you?”

Her heart swelled.

“You are all that is good and sweet and innocent,” he continued. “To consider that you could truly love me—”

“Do not consider it, Westcliffe. Be certain of it.”

He knelt, but held her hands tightly, giving her the strength to remain standing. “I never asked you to marry me, and for that I apologize. But I will ask you this: Will you honor me by remaining my wife?”

“Oh, you silly man, the honor is mine.”

She thought she would forever remember the adulation in his eyes at that moment as the walls he’d built to protect his heart crumbled. How could he have lived his life with only one assurance: that he had the love of a collie?

He was so strong, so good, so noble. She wasn’t certain her heart could contain all the love she felt for him. How could she have ever doubted that he was the perfect husband for her?

He swept her into his arms and carried her from the room. On the terrace, where her tea was growing cold, Stephen was waiting to say good-bye, but she didn’t care. He would have to wait. The man in whose arms she was now cradled would always come first from this moment on. She’d never give him reason to doubt her affections.

In his bedchamber, they curled together on the bed. She was still recovering, too weak to do anything but lie in his arms, but it was enough, to be held by him.

“If I had it to do over, I would have granted you a Season,” he said, as he trailed his finger along the curve of her cheek.

Cupping his face, she leaned up and kissed him. “But what would it have mattered? At the end of it, I still would have been yours.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I think I’ve been yours all along. I was just too silly to recognize it.”

L
ady Anne Cavill was slipping beneath the sheets when the door to her bedchamber burst open and crashed against the wall. With her hand to her heart, she spun around and nearly swooned at the specter of death charging through the doorway. Terror gripped her—

Then she relaxed as she recognized the intruder. “Oh, my God, it’s you. You look like hell.”

Relief swamped her because he was once again in her bedchamber. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

She’d barely laid her hand against his chest, before he closed his fingers around her wrist in a viselike grip, stilling her actions. With her other hand, she tried to pry his fingers loose. “You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt Claire. She lost the babe.”

Her heart stammered. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t set eyes on her in months.”

“I know what you did, Anne. You knew what had transpired on my wedding night. You were the only one I was foolish enough to tell, and you used the information to destroy what Claire and I were building.”

He persisted. “You wanted me to find her with another man. From the beginning, the ball you arranged was an elaborate ruse designed to provide an opportunity for me to find Claire with another man. But not just any man. It had to be Stephen. Otherwise, I might have given her a chance to explain. But not if I found her with Stephen. You knew my rage with him would blind me to all else.”

She thought she knew this man, but she’d never seen such fury. She jerked her arm back. “Let me go!”

But he held firm. She yanked back again, and he did as she asked. Off-balance, she fell backward and landed on the floor. He took a menacing step forward, towering over her. “I love her, Anne. I will do anything to see that she is happy. Stay clear of me and mine, or I swear before God, that I will destroy your reputation.”