Teaching the Earl (13 page)

"And I her.
I have seen more of her lately."

"Well of course, you are invited to the same events, now. Follow her lead and she will introduce you everywhere. There is a woman who knows how to go on in society.
Lively and amusing but never
de trop
."

"I look forward to when you and Papa will be there."

"You must not expect us to hang about you. We won't taint your success. But you may sponsor your sisters and they should do very well. We'll keep to the background."

"I can't think that's right. It's hardly what I owe you-"

"Hush, now. Never mind about us. We know exactly what we do. What you've achieved is everything we've dreamed of. When you are the mother of the heir to the earldom, I'll know my whole life has been worthwhile."

"Oh, Mama, I-That is I don't know if-"

"Don't worry if it takes a little time. Sometimes a first baby does. That's how I was with you. In the meantime you can enjoy society to the utmost. Let Lydia be your guide, and also Mrs Holbrook. She seems particularly fond of you, and so very dignified. I admit I feel very gauche next to her, but I can't think that's her fault."

"I'm sure she would not think it of you. She is the kindest, most gracious woman, once you get to know her."

"So she seems to you, and I have to like her for that. She has invited you to the Holbrooks's ball?"

"Yes, and bade me come and watch her order everyone around in preparation, when I mentioned I was too afraid to consider hosting my own events."

"There you are. Didn't I say she was fond of you? You do please everywhere you go, my dear. Any time you feel doubt in yourself, you must remember that. Chin up, you are a countess, and everyone likes you."

"Yes, Mama."
But Elizabeth thought of Lord Carhampton's cold eyes as he told her, 'I married you for your money,' and was not cheered by Mama's biased statement.

Even here, in the midst of all these people, she was restless and dissatisfied. Michael's attention did not heal the gaping wound Lord
Carhampton had left with his declaration. Her husband's opinion could not be dismissed. Every time she thought of it, she wanted to lie down in the darkness and cry and not move for days. Her husband did not love her. Did not even like her. Would rather she was gone completely.

London did not feel far enough away from him. But at least her family was here, and her friends. She could fill her days with visits and outings, her evenings with dinners, balls and routs, and not think of him for minutes or sometimes even an hour at a time.

But when she did think of him, she saw his face, coldly aristocratic even when he was tired and grimy. The flat look in his glazed eyes, his dull voice - it was easy to see he mourned the love of his life, dead and gone forever.

Elizabeth was an obstacle to him. The unpleasant price he must pay to secure the money needed to do his duty. He sacrificed himself on that altar. Of course he did not want to touch her. Even looking at her must revolt him.

"You've gone a very unpleasant color. Are you alright?" Lydia said.

"I don't feel very well. But it will pass."

"Shall we dance?" Michael said. "That always livens your spirits."

She looked up into his young face, open and attractive, lightly freckled and adoring, and felt the recklessness that had beset her so often lately.

She put her hand in his. "Absolutely." Never mind what Lydia said. Let people watch her, if they wanted. Let them gossip, and sneer. It did not matter. She needed Michael's attention; needed it to feel whole and alive. She would never be unfaithful to her vows, but here was affection and devotion, and she would take it.

But even the thought of how she used him brought her a taint of guilt, now Lydia made her consider it in a truer light.

"Michael," she said as he led her to the center of the ballroom, where couples whirled in a lively waltz. "This is not good for you, you know. To become attached to me. There is no hope for you-"

"Not as I would have wanted it, no. There has never been hope for me. Not since the moment I heard of your engagement. I should have stepped forward then, should have told you of my feelings. But I thought he had your love. Yet now it's clear he's abandoned you. You're alone and lonely, and he doesn't deserve you. I should have said something before you married. I curse-"

"Michael, please," she said, distressed by this sudden, intense spill of emotion. He spun them onto the dance floor, and she clung to his shoulder, his hand, to keep steady. "I don't think this is good for you. I should not see you any more-"

"You think I would leave you?
Never, in a million lifetimes. You can't tell me I haven't made you laugh, made you happy."

"Sometimes, but you have to know I can't-"

"Then that is enough, for now. It won't be long, and I'll be ready. I've saved my allowance, and I'll soon have enough for us to flee."

"What? Michael, what did you say?"

"You heard me."

"Flee? You expect me to run away with you?"

"Of course. What else is there?"

"I couldn't possibly."

"Be reasonable. There is nothing here for you. You are wasted in an empty marriage. Together we could find happiness. In each other's arms, we could-"

"No! I couldn't. I'm sorry. You've taken this much farther than I ever meant. I didn't realize you thought-Michael, there's no way I can ever be more than a friend to you. I'm a married woman."

"You talk as if our love means nothing."

"Our love?"
She faltered. Had she led him on so much? "I don't think-I truly have been glad of your company-"

"We can't talk this over here, where so many watch us. Come." He broke step, her hand still clenched in his, and tugged her off the dance floor where the crowd was thin and the nearby corridor dim.

Christopher
looked out over the seething mass of dancers and guests, almost as tightly-packed on the dance floor as around the edges of it. Though his position on the stairs into the grand room was elevated, still he could not see her anywhere.

She was here. The
Darrington's butler had confirmed it. This was the fourth of her planned engagements, so she would be either here or - if she had left unfashionably early - on her way home. His luck had been poor tonight. A man did not feel dignified chasing about the town after his wife, putting his nose in through a door, only to withdraw it when he was told she was elsewhere. It was hardly dignified. Yet he was not prepared to stay longer and pretend finding her was not his only goal - that he had called in to an event for his own sake.

No. There was
an urgency within him to find her again, to see her face. He wanted to know that smile was back on it, that he had so effectively quenched. Specifically he wanted her to see he had arrived, and give that smile to him; which was nonsensical.

Of course she would not smile at him like that. Not immediately. He remembered his words to her, more or less. He had been beleaguered and on the defensive, and could not recall precisely what he had said.

Her expression had made far more of an impression than his own words, truthfully. But he would apologize appropriately humbly, and she would certainly forgive him. She was such an obliging woman, hardly the sort to hold a grudge.

Then he would squire her about, and they could establish a truce, a peaceful understanding of their parallel lives. He would explain to her exactly what he wanted from her. It had been foolishness to think he could leave her at a loose en
d. Of course she needed clarity and a sense of purpose.

It had been very lax of him, not to consider things from her point of view. He had never really thought beyond securing her money for the sake of the earldom. That idea had been
as much as he could hold on to, in those dark days.

Vaguely he remembered their conversations during their brief courtship - deliberately brief, on his side - but he truly had no idea of her expectations, or what she wanted from their marriage.
Whatever it was - beyond the title - he could probably not give her. Still she would no doubt be satisfied with the sort of discreetly open relationships many ladies of the ton enjoyed.

Not that she was designed for subterfuge and secrets. She was such an open little thing.

Nor that he felt truly comfortable with the idea of her taking a lover. In fact - he looked down at his clenched fists, veins standing out on them - the idea did not sit well with him at all. Which was unjust. To deny her a loving marriage, and then also refuse her freedom to-

"Hallo,
Carhampton. Hah! It will take forever to grow accustomed to that. Lord Carhampton. My Lord Earl. Your very humble servant." Lieutenant-Colonel Matthew Brinks bowed obsequiously, legs splayed on different stairs with easy athleticism.

"Clown," said Christopher, though a corner of his mouth quirked upwards. One could never be annoyed with light-hearted Matthew.

"Can't call you Carhampton, though. Too much of a mouthful. Why did you have to pick such a long-handled title, hmmm?"

"I beg your pardon for inconveniencing you."

"Quite all right. I'll survive the strain. I didn't know you were back in town. Following your wicked countess, are you?"

"My-Pardon?"

"Lady Carhampton. She's set some tongues wagging, as you can imagine." Then as Christopher simply frowned at him, his eyebrows rose. "Dash it, I've put my foot in it, haven't I? Have you only just arrived in the city?” He shook his head at his own tactlessness, then shrugged in resignation and completed his tale. “It's no secret Michael Seton's been squiring her everywhere, and damned particular in his attentions. She doesn't shake him off. Your wife is delighted to dance and make merry with the boy, and he's a handsome lad. Speculation is rife. If she starts increasing in the next months, there'll be doubt it's yours." He finished with uncharacteristic grimness, no doubt responding to Christopher's expression.

Christopher could feel an unfamiliar rigidity in his face, his body, and the
powerful urge to rend something.

"Are they here?" he asked with quiet menace.

"They were waltzing. Just-No, I can't see them anymore. Or wait, isn't that her over-Ah."

Both men saw her tall figure whisk out of sight down a dim corridor at the very farthest end of the ballroom, her hand in Michael Seton's.

"If you'll excuse me," said Christopher, with careful deliberateness.

"Perhaps you'd prefer company-"

"Thank you. But what I'd prefer is no witnesses."

"Don't kill anyone, will you?"

"I'll try not to," said Christopher, and was not certain his words were a joke.

_____

She stumbled after Michael,
and lifted her skirt a little. When they rounded the first corner of the narrow hallway they were in near darkness. No candles burned here, and the noise from the ballroom was a muted roar, indistinct and oblivious.

"Slow down. I can't even see-"

But he suddenly stopped and she ran into him. Instantly his arms were around her, and she could feel he was shaking.

"Elizabeth.
Oh, Elizabeth." His voice throbbed with passion.

"Please. This is wrong. Let me go."

"I can't wait any longer. I have to hold you."

"No you don't. You've misunderstood me. I'm sorry but
I-"

His mouth came down on hers, rough and hasty, and she struggled against him. He was stronger than he
looked, his arms hard whipcord. She had compared him to Chris's size and underestimated him, but she was no match for his strength.

She strained to push him away, and when that did not work she struck upwards with a cl
enched fist. It was a weak blow - she had so little space - and it caught her jaw along with his, so she bit her tongue and tasted blood in her mouth. It still snapped his head back and his arms fell away in shock.

"Bastard," she hiss
ed. "Don't come near me again!" She picked up her skirts, and whirled to flee back the way they had come. But she took only a single step before she ran hard into a broad chest, and reeled back. Her upper arm was seized.

"I see I've
arrived at a bad time," came a steely voice out of the darkness, and when she raised her head she could make out the familiar planes of his face, his eyes glittering in the faint light.

"Chris," she gasped,
Her heart hammered. Relief coursed through her, followed swiftly by dismay. What had he seen? What did he imagine this was?

"Take your hands off her," Michael said from behind her,
in a threatening growl. Chris's hand dropped away from her, but only so he could brush past her and with a powerful thrust, clout Michael on the jaw and lay him flat on the floor. The force of his blow was so great Michael slid a foot further on the polished wood, before he stopped, motionless.

Chris turned back to her, his chest heaving. "Madam," he said, and his voice was pure ice.

"I did not expect you," she said stupidly.

"Obviously."

"I didn't mean to-" she waved a hand in Michael's direction.

"Then take greater care." He loomed over her and she shrank back, but he took her shoulders and held them hard. She could feel heat roll off him, the tension of his rage. What would he do?

"I can explain-"

"Let me be clear, so there is no confusion," he said, silky soft. "You are mine. Don't make this mistake again."

"You don't understand. I wasn't-"

"I'm not inclined to listen to excuses and lies. Not in this moment. I am not . . . calm."

"Please, I don't know what you think but this is not-"

"I think you are very young. I think you are foolish and too easily led. I think you have made a mistake you must learn to regret, and never repeat. I should not have left you alone to these temptations. We are both at fault-"

"But I-"

"No!" Carefully he released her, set her away from him. "Don't argue with me about this."

"Listen to me! You have leapt to conclusions. It is not what it seemed to be-"

"Did you go alone into the darkness with a man who has been everywhere over town with you, your constant companion? Did I come upon him kissing you here, where you thought yourself alone?"

"Well-Yes, but-"

"Was it all you hoped? Did you enjoy it? Did he touch all your sweet body?" Now his torso was suddenly against hers, the wall at her back so she had nowhere to go. She was held in place by him, unyielding and implacable. There was so much of him, and his scent was in her nose, dark and alluring. His hand cupped her jaw and raised it, fingers digging in in fierce possession. His other hand slid from her waist to her hip, and squeezed. Every tingling nerve ending came alive and sang.

"Did you moan, Elizabeth?" Her name in his harsh voice was a curse, but his breath feathered her lips and she tilted her head back even more, as it became suddenly heavy in his grip, her neck growing weak. She arched her back, ruled by instinct, so her full breasts pressed against his chest in a gliding rub.

He lowered his head, rested his cheek on hers. "Shall I make you forget? Make you forget his touch-"

"He didn't-"

"Hush. Don't speak of him." She felt his hands at her skirt, taking great handfuls of the fabric and lifting. He shifted his pelvis so he could force the delicate cloth higher and trap it between them. Between her bare legs was suddenly the rough slide of his breech-clad thigh, wide and firm as she straddled it. He grasped her hips and ground her down on himself in forceful friction that made her gasp and flinch. Her hands lifted to his shoulders and she clung, unable to think, her fingers digging in as she gripped him fiercely.

Did he feel the subtle signs of her body? "You like that? Say yes," he commanded.

"Yes," she
said, her voice tight and strange.

He shoved fingers into her bodice and eased a nipple free of its minimal restraint, deftly pinched it in a hold just short of pain, intensely pleasurable, so she gave a breathy cry of astonishment. His thigh between hers thrust with rhythmic pressure and she turned her face against his, seeking, seeking-His mouth came down on hers, madly possessive, shaped her lips, sucked on them as if he would devour her. She moaned and strained to be closer, her whole body lifting to him, fingers tangled in his clothes. She could not think, could not name what she wanted, only knew there was a great yearning in her for him, for all of him, to grab and consume and sink into him. She shook with the force of it, and made pleading, formless sounds.

"You are mine," he growled at her. "Mine. Say it."

"Yours."

"Don't forget."

"I didn't. I-"

He hitched her further up the wall, so now her legs l
ost all contact with the ground and fell either side of his waist. He buried his face in her breast, grasped a nipple in his mouth and worked it feverishly. She clutched at his head, her own head angled far back, as she was held up by him and the wall and pinned there. His hands were on her thighs and they slid up the underside of them, swiftly traveled higher until suddenly his fingers were there on that most secret, private place. So slippery, smoother than silk, he thrummed that tender flesh and groaned loudly in her ear.

His groan was echoed by a second to one side of them. They both froze, and looked at Michael.

He rolled his head from one side to one side, then tautened as if pain had suddenly hit. His hands went to his head and he moaned like a wounded animal, opened his eyes and blinked into the dimness.

Elizabeth made a convulsive effort to be free, but Chris's grip on her firmed, and when she looked at him she saw a cool challenge in his face.

"You will not go to him."

The next mangled sound Michael produced was her name, and he repeated it as he gathered his limbs and stood, awkward and swaying. She knew the moment he saw them for he stood still and peered at them. "Elizabeth?"

What a picture she must make: skirts lifted, her legs around Chris's waist, one breast bared. She was silent. Chris's body kept her pinned in place. When she lifted an arm to cover her exposed breast, he gravely pulled her bodice to one side and eased her soft flesh into the space he had created. His fingertips lingered.

"Elizabeth," Michael said again, his voice breaking, and when she met his gaze she saw his face twist and crumple. "Whore," he whispered.

Instantly Chris's hands were at her waist, He set her down and stepped away. His face held murder, and she was afraid.

She caught his arm. "Don't hit him again. Don't touch him. It doesn't matter-"

"You defend him?" he spat out, incredulous, and shot her a dark look under his brows.

"No, but he's not worth your trouble. Come away. Leave him be."

He looked at Michael, shoulders bunched, fists clenched. "You live by her grace. Come near my wife again, speak one word of her to anyone, and I'll call you out and shoot you where you stand." He took her by the upper arm and hurried her down the corridor, towards the light and laughter. They rounded a turn and he stopped abruptly while they still stood concealed by the shadows. "Pull yourself together."