Surrender to the Earl (18 page)

“Mrs. Sanford, stop this weepin’,” her husband commanded, not unkindly. “What has happened?”

And then there was a silence, as if they all realized that Audrey was still sitting there.

“She knows,” Mrs. Sanford murmured, her voice hoarse now. “She knows everythin’, how her husband betrayed her, and how we did the same with our lies.”

The renewed silence was stifling with old grief and rising fear. Audrey couldn’t bear it anymore.

“What my husband did is not your fault,” she said heavily. “I regret that you’ve born the burden of his thoughtless selfishness. I’m relieved that he at least tried to provide Louisa with the money she needs to support little Arthur. That will continue, of course, as will your employment, if you all promise never again to lie to me.”

Mrs. Sanford started to weep again, and she could hear Mr. Sanford clearing his throat several times.

“Mrs. Blake,” he said huskily, “we don’t deserve yer kindness, but we appreciate it.”

“What is going on?”

Audrey heard her sister’s bewildered voice, and the servants went quiet once again. “I’ll speak with my sister,” she said, rising her to her feet. “Go on with luncheon preparations, Mrs. Sanford.”

“Thank ye, ma’am,” the woman said.

The sincerity and relief in her voice finally made Audrey give a faint smile. She walked toward the front hall, knowing Blythe followed her.

“Come into my study, Blythe.”

She shut the door behind her sister and leaned against it, closing her eyes, feeling like she could slide right to the floor with sad weariness. But at least she had the truth now, and she could find a way to deal with it. She told Blythe all about Louisa and little Arthur.

When she was done, Blythe breathed, “Oh my.”

“I’m glad I can’t see the pity on your face. You warned me about Martin. I didn’t want to listen. I was dazzled by his courtship.”

“You wouldn’t see pity,” Blythe insisted, “but anger and sadness. Any man could marry a woman and do what Mr. Blake did. It wasn’t because you were blind.”

And then they were hugging, and Audrey felt a fierce gladness and even disbelief that she was clinging to her sister of all people.

“It’s a good thing you have at last found a man worthy of you,” Blythe said.

Audrey gave a bitter laugh as she stepped back. She didn’t even hesitate with her next words. “That’s the sad thing, Blythe. Our engagement is fictitious, all a sham to get me away from Father’s house.”

Blythe gasped. “But . . . I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to marry again, not ever,” Audrey said fiercely, knowing after today’s revelation it was even more the truth. “I won’t be any man’s wife again, I won’t be under someone’s power. Doesn’t this—this new secret of Martin’s prove that my course is right?”

“Was this false engagement his lordship’s idea?” Blythe demanded, sounding bewildered.

“As Martin’s fellow soldier, he wanted to help me, and this is what I asked for, his escort, protection, and advice until I could set up my household. The engagement was the only way he felt we could leave Father’s household without too much resistance.” She hesitated. “Do you . . . do you hate me for the lies?”

“Hate you? How could I hate you when only lies would let you live your life the way you wanted? I never helped at all—no, no, I helped
drive
you to such desperation!”

“You had no power over Father either.”

“But I could have supported you, tried to convince him.” Her voice went ragged with emotion. “Instead I thought you couldn’t possibly be alone. Maybe I was putting my own weakness on you—oh, I don’t know. But it was wrong of me, Audrey, and I regret it so terribly.”

And then they were hugging again, and Audrey felt the sting of tears she hadn’t imagined in such a long time. Happy tears, if one could claim any happiness in this terrible debacle of a day.

Then Blythe straightened and put both hands on Audrey’s shoulders. “But as for Lord Knightsbridge—Audrey, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen, the way he looks at you. He truly cares about you. And . . . you’ve kissed him, when it couldn’t matter to anyone but the two of you. He’s been here for you almost every day.”

“Because he feels like he needs to take care of me,” Audrey said bitterly. “That’s pity, Blythe.”

“Pity? Was it pity when our mother watched out for us, taught us, protected us?”

“She was our
mother.
”

“That was love. Why cannot Lord Knightsbridge’s protection of you be love? Do we not want to help those we care for?”

Audrey found herself swallowing at the hurt that was like a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to believe it could be love, couldn’t bear that her resolve to be independent could harm Robert. “No, Blythe, he doesn’t love me, and I don’t love him.” Saying that aloud felt like she spoke thickly, with ashes in her mouth, and she didn’t know why that suddenly frightened her. “He feels pity, I know he does, because now that he’s seen how much help I need, my problem with the servants, he’s decided we really should marry.”

Blythe was strangely silent.

“Then you agree with me,” Audrey continued.

“No, no, I’m trying to understand it all. He’s actually proposed marriage, and you turned him down—a man who cares for you, an
earl,
for heaven’s sake?”

Audrey groaned. “You know I don’t care about titles! And you shouldn’t either.”

“Don’t be so hasty dismissing his proposal. I know you care for him, too. Admit you feel more for him than you ever felt for Mr. Blake.”

“It is different. Robert and I have been . . . friends.”

Blythe snorted.

“I don’t wish to discuss this anymore.” Audrey crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Oh, very well, Audrey. But you think things through carefully before making any decisions.”

“I already refused him and asked him to leave me in peace for a few days.”

Blythe gave a groan. “You foolish girl!”

“I have more important things to deal with than one man’s pity.”

“The Sanfords’ grandchild.”

“Yes, that little boy, who is my husband’s son.”

“His bastard.”

“That is such an ugly name for an innocent child. His birth is not his fault. I—I don’t know if there is something more I should do about all of this.”

“Do? Audrey, the boy is being provided for by Mr. Blake’s estate. You are taking care of his entire family by allowing them to keep their employment, even after their trickery and lies. What more can you possibly do?”

Audrey didn’t know, but there was something in her subconscious, something that wouldn’t let her go, bothering her all the rest of the day. She had dreams that night of her dead child, the first time in well over a year. In her dreams, he wasn’t too tiny, without the breath of life. He was a laughing, playful toddler, teasing her by hiding, so smart that he already knew of her blindness, and thought it only a part of her, the mother he loved, not a pitiable flaw.

The revelation of little Arthur reminded her in a more powerful way what her life would have been like had her own child lived.

She let the terrible pain of her loss remind her of all the reasons she was never going to put herself in such a position again, never going to love or risk such grief again. She wasn’t going to marry Robert.

Chapter 18

A
s Rose Cottage came into sight the next day, Robert rode with even more determination. He damn well wasn’t going to cool his heels another day, regardless of what Audrey thought she wanted.

Because she was wrong.

He understood that she was frightened, that Blake had hurt her terribly—that Robert had, too, helping to cause the death of her husband and her unborn child.

But he damn well wasn’t trying to control her, and he was offended she thought he was. Touching her, pleasuring her, had been one of the best experiences of his life—and she’d tried to turn it into something sordid.

He intended to show her she was far from the truth. Somehow he would convince her that they should be together.

When Francis let him into the entrance hall, he thought the young man looked a bit pale, and didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes.

“Please wait in the drawin’ room, milord,” Francis said. “I’ll tell Mrs. Blake ye’ve arrived.”

She made him wait a long time, and when at last she swept in, as regal as a queen in flower-sprigged white muslin, indignation still hid behind her cool expression.

To his surprise, he had to mightily resist the urge to sweep her into his arms, to take up where they had left off, to prove to her with his body that they belonged together.

“Lord Knightsbridge,” she said, hands clasped before her. “I didn’t think I would see you for at least another day.”

Using formal titles, was she? “Good morning, Audrey.”

She only bowed her head.

Clenching his jaw, he plunged on. “I thought the invitation from Lady Flitcroft would change your mind.”

Her expression shifted to one of confusion. “Invitation? I received none.”

It was his turn to be confused. “Why would I receive an invitation from a woman I’ve never met, if it wasn’t because of my engagement to you? She can’t simply be attempting to move up a social circle.”

“The woman is incredibly shy. I had tea with her several days ago.” Then she hesitated, and an expression of understanding briefly crossed her face. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He was left standing there alone, but not for long. Her sister ducked inside almost furtively, staying near the door.

“Good morning, Miss Collins,” he said.

“Please call me Blythe, my lord.”

“And you shall call me Robert, since you will soon be my sister.”

She arched a brow. “That’s not what Audrey tells me, but I would not believe you right for her if you didn’t have confidence in yourself.”

“She told you she’d changed her mind about marrying me?” he asked, not surprised, but only further convinced of the rightness of his cause.

She lowered her voice. “She told me it was never an engagement at all. I just want to tell you not to give up, that I believe she doesn’t know her own mind.”

He slowly smiled, hope swelling his chest like pride. “Thank you for the encouragement.”

She nodded, then peered over her shoulder. “I must go!” She ran across the hall and ducked into the dining room.

A moment later, Audrey returned. “I discovered that Lady Flitcroft was given the impression by her servants that I would not attend a dinner.”

“Who would do that?”

“My servants. But we have come to an understanding. I discovered what was going on, confronted them, and we are now going forward with trust.”

He frowned. “There is a lot you’re not telling me.”

“You’re not my fiancé, Robert. I only have to tell you what I feel you need to know.”

He fisted a hand in frustration against his thigh, then let it go. This little war between them would be a series of skirmishes, not one large battle. And he could be a patient man. “Very well, then back to this evening’s dinner party. Will you be my guest, and show your neighbors that you’re perfectly capable of eating a meal with them?”

She hesitated, not very successful at hiding her warring feelings. He could tell she wanted to attend, but also wanted to distance herself from him. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Very well, I accept your invitation.”

“Then if you don’t mind, I will ask Francis to press my attire for the evening.”

“You were so confident, you brought a valise?” she demanded.

“I knew you wouldn’t make me ride all the way home regardless. Now is there a way I can be of assistance today?”

“No, thank you. Pretend you’re a guest. Perhaps Mr. Sanford will take you hunting.”

“Or you and I could fish together.”

“Fish?” She wrinkled her nose. “I have a feast to plan for my tenants. Please excuse me.”

“Wait.” He caught her arm.

She froze, her head tilted down as if she was frowning at his touch.

He didn’t let her go, only leaned down until his mouth was almost against the hair near her ear, and he could smell the scent of roses. “I cannot forget how you felt in my arms, how you tasted, how you found your pleasure with me.”

He felt her shudder, knew with relief that she wasn’t unaffected.

“Robert, you must stop trying to force me to feel more for you than I want to feel.”

She pulled her arm free, and he let her go.

“I don’t have to force any emotion from you, Audrey. It’s simply there, just as it is for me.”

“But that doesn’t mean I wish to act on it. Pleasure is fleeting, but pain and grief never go away, nor do regrets from impulsive actions.”

He stood still long after she was gone, reflecting on the truth of her words in his own life. He regretted so many things he’d done, wished desperately that Audrey hadn’t born the brunt of those impulsive mistakes.

But he couldn’t wish that all of the past hadn’t led him to this moment. She’d become central to his life, and that realization seemed monumental, mystifying. He didn’t want to lose her.

Robert told himself to be patient. He’d known she wouldn’t fall into his arms due to her own pride and the grief that must surely have threatened to overwhelm her. But he’d been hoping for a spark of longing, the one that had kept him up all night, hot and unsatisfied and desperate to have more of her.

It had been there, that answering spark, even though she wished it gone.
Patience.

T
hat evening, Audrey sat in the Collins’s carriage beside Blythe, her head tilted away from Robert, who was seated across from them. She kept accidentally brushing against his big feet, his lower limbs, and just the touch made her blush and be grateful for the low lantern light.

She’d been nervous all afternoon as Molly had helped her dress, even nestling tiny pearls in her hair. But she hadn’t paid attention to her gown, and didn’t even realize it might look different until Blythe had earlier given a little gasp, and waxed enthusiastic about how wonderful she looked.

And then Audrey had happened to touch the bodice, and realized it had a lower décolletage than she remembered, and suddenly knew impudent Molly had been busy with her sewing needle. She’d been about to run back up to her room to change, but Blythe had insisted they’d all be late.

Thankfully, Robert hadn’t remarked on her gown, except to say that she was lovely, but she was very conscious of every draft, and kept her cloak firmly closed from the moment she’d donned it.

Why had she never noticed how much room Robert took up in the carriage?

“We’re almost there,” Blythe said at last. “I can see the house lit up within the trees. Very pretty.”

“Very countrified,” Audrey amended dryly. “I know you have seen many more grand homes in London.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the care a family takes with their home and their pride being able to entertain their neighbors.”

Audrey barely kept from gaping. Was this mature young woman truly her sister? For after they arrived, Blythe remained at her side, commenting quietly on things that happened, making certain she knew every raised stair in her path, every person in the drawing room who was brought forward to be introduced.

Audrey was no fool—Robert was the main draw here, the earl returned from foreign wars a hero, so rich and powerful and handsome. And she could not miss how kind he was to everyone, how he downplayed himself in favor of learning about every guest, how he never failed to include her in each conversation.

When a young man tried to draw a resisting Blythe away to talk, Audrey had insisted she go, knowing Robert would assist her and not cause her any disappointment.

Not here in public, anyway. He was gracious throughout the meal, making sure he sat at her side, but she’d already ruined Lady Flitcroft’s seating arrangements just by her unexpected attendance. The lady herself, so soft-spoken, seemed to sincerely regret that she hadn’t given more thought to their comfort—to the needs of a blind woman, Audrey knew, but she understood and took no offense. In fact, she was grateful. Every hostess took care of her guests’ needs, whatever they might be. She wasn’t so special, being blind. She was becoming used to the thought that people would watch her every move. Robert told her where everything was placed on her plate, as if he’d been paying close attention at each meal they’d shared.

After dinner, the guests returned to the drawing room, where the rugs had been rolled back, and the furniture pushed against the walls—or so Robert told her.

“Find me a suitable chair, Robert, and you go ask the ladies to dance. They will be thrilled.”

“I don’t wish to be gotten rid of so easily. Did you never learn to dance?”

She hesitated, feeling a momentary excitement that she quickly dismissed out of habit. “I had some formal training for a few months before my blindness, but that was all.”

Audrey hadn’t realized Blythe was nearby until her sister said, “Do not listen to her, Robert. She and Mama used to dance together all the time. I would watch them.”

“Blythe,” Audrey said in warning tones.

“Oh please, the musicians are warming up a waltz. Robert can guide you through it. Surely they waltzed at parties in India?”

“They did.” He spoke in measured tones, as if he were trying not to sound victorious.

Audrey gritted her teeth—and then truly looked into her soul. Was she going to sit in a corner asking for sympathy just because she didn’t want to risk being made a fool? Or was her concern more about being held in Robert’s arms and fighting away all the emotions and passion his very touch inspired?

She had to conquer that, and delaying it would only make everything worse.

“Very well, I shall dance,” Audrey promised coolly. “Thank you for the invitation, my lord.”

“Oh good!” Blythe said, her voice practically gleeful. “And I promised this dance to the vicar’s son. He is quite too kind and good for me, but he looks like he can dance most excellently. Have a wonderful waltz!” Her slippers tapped quickly as she moved away.

Even as Audrey smiled, she heard Robert chuckle.

“I quite like the woman your sister is turning out to be,” he said.

“As do I. Miracles truly happen.”

“Then I’ll keep hoping.”

She ignored him, pretending she didn’t understand what he meant. And then he took her gloved hand in his as the opening bars of the music swelled.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

“It’s not as if I have ever danced in public before.”

“You will master this as you master everything you attempt. I have never admired anyone more in my life.”

She knew he was exaggerating, but could not stop her blush. “Robert, this flirtation will get you nowhere.”

“Speaking the truth is always to be commended. Now come into my arms, Mrs. Blake, and relax.”

As if she could possibly relax, with his gloved hand holding hers, his big palm in the center of her back, each subtle pressure moving her about. She stumbled over his foot once or twice, but he held her up so effortlessly, she wasn’t certain anyone would have noticed her mistakes.

“Relax,” he breathed. “Smile.”

A genuine one came to her, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

“Feel the music,” he said. “I’ve heard you play, and music is in your very soul.”

She did relax then, letting him sweep her away into a swirl of dancers. She felt the very movement of the air as the women’s swirling skirts passed her by. She was dancing, actually dancing, in the arms of the most handsome man in the room, surely. She felt like every other woman at that moment, no different, no better or worse. She was dancing, trusting in Robert’s every movement.

Until the music seemed to fade behind her, and a cool evening breeze raised gooseflesh on her bare arms.

“Robert, where are we?”

“It was overly warm in there. I thought you might appreciate a moment to collect yourself after your first successful dance.”

“But where are we?”

“The terrace. It’s lit with torches in the corners, but there are suitable shadows where an engaged couple can quietly . . . speak.”

“Quietly speak?” she echoed dryly. “And what would you like to speak of?”

“Are you enjoying the evening thus far?”

She put her hands on the stone balustrade and tried to imagine the dark night, and perhaps the moon peering down on them. It could be a peaceful scene—but she did not feel peaceful with Robert’s sleeve brushing her.

“The evening is lovely, and my new neighbors are gracious and understanding. But you? You are not taking rejection well.”

He gave a low chuckle. “And I don’t plan to.”

Now his hand touched hers, side by side on the balustrade. She moved hers away, and when he followed, she gave up with a sigh and allowed it.

“You are being childish,” she said.

“I am courting you. If you let me kiss you, we’ll return to the dancing for the next waltz.”

“Then kiss me and be done with it, for your skill will not persuade me.”

“Skill? I am flattered.”

He drew her into his arms, her breasts to the hard planes of his chest, her skirts entwined with his legs. Her heartbeat quickened, and it was as if she couldn’t get enough air—all in reaction to his simplest touch. Why?

And then his lips met hers, soft and coaxing one moment, firm and commanding the next, demanding entrance to her mouth and insisting that she meet him in passion. And to her regret, she did, with an enthusiasm that was embarrassing and exhilarating at the same time.