The Earl's Complete Surrender (10 page)

Chloe's eyes narrowed. “I don't believe you.”

“Why not? What reason would I possibly have to lie?”

“I don't know,” she told him truthfully, “but you're a serious man, my lord—­the sort of man who does a great deal of thinking. You would have considered the potential danger to my reputation before allowing yourself to get involved with me in the first place.”

“You're wrong about that,” he said. “I acted on impulse.”

“Why are you lying?” The words were nothing more than a whisper, and yet they were perfectly audible as they filled the space between them.

Woodford's eyes flickered, hard as flint. “If you were a man, I'd call you out for implying that I might be.”

Her hunger for the truth emboldened her, so rather than retreat, she took a step toward him. “Allow me to save you the effort.” She lifted the vest and rapier. “I hereby challenge
you,
Lord Woodford.”

“No,” he said simply.

“If I win,” she went on, ignoring him completely, “you'll be honor-­bound to tell me why you really want to be rid of me.”

He flinched just enough to suggest severe discomfort with that notion. “And if you lose?”

“Name your terms.”

For a long unbearable moment, he remained completely impassive until, ever so gradually, he allowed a distinct nod. “If I win, you will tell me why you felt compelled to flee the salon the other day when I got angry.”

Chloe drew back. “I had my reasons.”

“I do not doubt that, Lady Newbury, and I should like to know what they are.”

“Why?”

He stared back at her until her toes began to curl inside her slippers. “Suffice it to say that I've always been the curious sort. I like to understand ­people, and I do believe that I'll be more likely to understand you if you tell me about your fear of confrontation.”

It was a gamble. A dangerous one, given his proficiency with a foil. But she'd been the one to suggest the match. Backing out would only prove that she was a coward, so she decided to take the risk of having to confide in him the truth about her marriage. “Very well,” Chloe conceded as she put on the vest that Hainsworth had given her and tied the ribbons in place. It was a little large of course, but she was too agitated to go in search of another and therefore decided to make do. “Shall we begin?” she asked with more confidence than she felt.

“En garde,” Woodford muttered, taking up his position.

Chloe followed suit. While her right hand held her foil at the ready, her left clutched the fabric of her skirt, hitching it slightly upward so it wouldn't tangle around her legs or accidentally trip her. If only she'd been wearing breeches as she usually did when she fenced with Spencer, but she was certain that doing so would have been too great of a shock for Woodford on the heels of discovering her fondness for a discipline reserved exclusively for men.

Instead, she would simply have to make the best of it, and she was not given much time to gather her wits since, to her surprise, Woodford moved toward her, forcing her to back up. For some reason she'd expected him to wait for her to make the first move, but he had not, and rather than an easy, playful bout, she found herself struggling to keep up.

“You present good posture,” Woodford remarked as their foils engaged with fluidity.

“Thank you, my lord,” Chloe replied, her heart already pumping fast with the exertion. “I've been practicing a great deal, though I daresay I've never fought against anyone as accomplished as you.”

He frowned. “Have you ever fought against anyone other than Spencer?”

“No,” she confessed.

The edge of his mouth twitched. “Then you flatter me, Lady Newbury, for your brother is quite skilled.”

“Have you ever lost against him?”

“I cannot say that I have.”

“Then I did not flatter you at all. I merely stated fact.”

Woodford nodded, conceding the point as they changed directions. “Pull your shoulders back a little and raise your chin.” Chloe did as he suggested. “Good. Now concentrate on my foil. I'm going to try an attack and I want you to block me if you can. Ready?”

“Ready.” The word was barely out before Chloe felt, rather than saw, her own foil being pushed aside by his so swiftly that it was over in a second. She hadn't stood a chance.

“Shall we try again?” he asked, the tip of his foil still pressed against the middle of Chloe's chest.

Determined to do better, Chloe nodded and took up her starting position. “En garde,” she said, leaping forward to attack.

Woodford's eyes widened. Evidently he had not been prepared for her to perform a balestra and just as she'd hoped, it worked to her advantage, allowing her to push Woodford's foil aside so she could pin him with her own.

“An exemplary show of swordsmanship, my lady,” he said with appreciation as she lowered her foil and stepped back.

Pleased that she had managed to best him, she smiled with satisfaction, but was quickly reminded of her inferior skills when he suddenly engaged her once again, deflecting her blows as he took command and pressed her backward. “Arrogance has no place in fencing,” he remarked.

She gasped as she fought for control. “You think me arrogant, my lord?”

“I think you're trying to prove yourself somehow. I also believe that your one successful move has made you too confident—­so confident in fact that you failed to anticipate this.” With a flick of his foil, he knocked hers aside, caught the hem of her gown and, whirling the fabric around his own foil, drew her closer until they were practically chest to chest. His breaths were controlled, unlike hers, but there was a slight sheen upon his brow to suggest that he'd been exercising with vigor.

“It appears you've won yet again,” Chloe said, her voice barely audible above the thundering sound of her heart. Lord help her they were close—­indecently so. The thrill of it was almost unbearable, the scent of him—­the elemental smell of strength and vitality—­intoxicating. Gazing up at him, Chloe licked her lips without even thinking.

His eyes darkened while a gruff sound escaped him, but rather than kiss her as she'd expected, he stepped back, adding distance, and unwound his foil from her skirt. “That's two to one,” he said, raising his foil once more while she did the same, her composure utterly shaken by the professional detachment with which he approached their match. “Ready?”

She nodded, her breaths still heavy against her chest. “Ready,” she said as she focused all her attention upon his hand and the foil that he wielded so easily that it seemed to be an extension of his arm.

“En garde,” he said before moving swiftly to­ward her.

Their foils clanged together, echoing through the large room. With precise movements, he pushed her to use every aspect of her training. But every time she attempted an unexpected thrust in his direction, he was ready to deflect her. The element of surprise that she'd used against him previously was now an impossible act to follow since he'd been made aware of her capabilities.

“Will you surrender?” he asked when she began showing obvious signs of fatigue.

“Never,” she hissed.

He arched an eyebrow and gave a curt nod as he pushed her further back, the strength in her hand beginning to fail her. “Your determination is admirable, just as long as it doesn't prove foolhardy.”

Pivoting on his heels, he rounded on her, his foil dashing hers aside and then pinning the thin muslin of her gown.

She felt it like the prick of a needle and instinctively gasped. “The victory is clearly yours,” she eventually said.

With a slight nod, he drew back his foil. “There is nothing wrong with sizing up your enemy, concluding that you cannot possibly win, and then abandoning all attempts at trying. It's a strategy that may allow you another attempt to achieve your goal later.”

“Thank you for the lesson, my lord. I shall certainly take it into account the next time that I am faced with a superior opponent.” Lord how she hated the annoyance with which she spoke. After all, he'd just made a valid point.

He frowned, but rather than comment, he said, “Would you like to take a walk with me in the garden once you've freshened up?”

It wasn't so much a question as a suggestion that she would be wise to accept.

As reluctant as she was to give him his prize, she managed to say, “I'd be delighted, my lord.”

His eyes dropped to her lips for the briefest second—­enough to make her mouth go completely dry. Looking back up, he allowed a faint smile. “Likewise,” he murmured. He did not touch her, and yet it felt as though she'd just been caressed. Her legs wobbled a little, her breaths embarrassingly revealing of the torment he stirred to life within her. With hesitant steps, she retreated, relieved when he made no attempt to follow.

“Shall we say, the terrace, in half an hour?” Woodford called after her.

With a nod of agreement that seemed to proclaim her fate, she proceeded toward the equipment room in order to return her vest and foil to their proper places. Returning to the exercising room a moment later, she realized with a start that Woodford had removed his vest and that his shirt was undone at the neck while the thin fabric clung to his well-­defined chest. Heat stirred to life in her belly and she hastily glanced away, swallowing hard as she passed him. “Thank you for the match,” she said as she reached the exit. Hopefully she didn't sound as daft as she suspected. “If you'll excuse me, I'd best return upstairs.”

J
ames stared after her. Christ almighty, she was incredible—­brave in her defiance even as uncertainty and apprehension had marred her beautiful features. But in spite of her fears—­hell, in spite of all that was proper—­she'd held her own against him, surprising him with her skill and . . . making him want her even more.

For a few moments during their match, she'd allowed the mask of perfection she struggled so valiantly to uphold, to slip, allowing him a glimpse of the same Lady Newbury he'd seen on the rooftop—­a fiery woman brimming with passion.

Recalling the rapid rise and fall of her chest, he felt his body tightening once more. The effect she had on him was not the least bit proper—­least of all when she'd slid her pink tongue along those ripe lips of hers. Once again, a subtle hint of chamomile and lemons had teased his senses, leaving him to wonder if the scent was from her perfume or from her soap. Either way, the thought only made him more uncomfortable.

On a groan of frustration, he strode toward the equipment room and thrust his vest aside. Hains­worth was right. James ought to stay away from her—­at least until the journal was found and The Electors apprehended. But he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to delve inside her head either. Perhaps once their walk was over he'd find a way to distance himself from her. He'd like to think that he was professional enough to accomplish such a thing, no matter how tempting Lady Newbury's company might be.

After freshening up a little and getting changed, James went to meet the lady in question at precisely five o'clock. The sun was no longer high in the sky, but retreating behind the treetops on the western side of the lake, softening the tones in the garden. “So?” James asked, prodding Lady Newbury gently as they walked toward the Chinese pavilion. “Why did my anger frighten you the other day? You knew it wasn't directed at you.”

Looking away from him, she kept silent. James said nothing further, deciding to allow her the time that she needed. It was clear that she was finding the situation difficult, but she'd made the wager and he respected her for not shying away from it.

“The first time I saw Lord Newbury, I thought him the handsomest man in the world,” she finally said as they reached the pavilion and crossed the arched bridge leading onto it. “I had just made my debut and was filled with all the romantic notions of any young girl.” She sighed wistfully and James imagined her thinking back on her younger years with longing. Stepping up to the pavilion's railing, she looked out across the water. “My gown was a special order from the Belle Anglaise, made of the finest cream-­colored silk and embroidered with gold thread.”

“I'm sure you must have been quite sought after. Especially as the Earl of Oakland's daughter.”

“Oh, indeed,” Lady Newbury said, not quite managing a smile. “My dance card filled up quickly and . . . Newbury requested the waltz.” Her lips trembled ever so slightly. “It was everything I'd hoped for. He was both charming and interesting. The other gentlemen paled by comparison and once he started courting me in earnest, the rest of my family fell in love with him too.” She went silent, her chest rising and falling in response to deep inhalations.

“But?” James asked after a few moments had passed.

Dipping her head, she brushed her thumb against the grain of the wood railing, seemingly studying the texture. “It was too good to be true,” she finally said. “The fairy tale lasted no more than a week into our marriage, at which point Newbury began revealing his true self.”

James's spine stiffened. “In what way?”

Her shoulder lifted, producing a half-­hearted shrug. More silence, and then she suddenly looked at him, her eyes bright and clear with pain. “He needed more than what I was able to offer—­he craved adventure, so although he'd relished the process of winning my hand, he began looking for the next ‘thing' to spark his interest as soon as that had been accomplished. I tried to be supportive, but he didn't find me daring enough.”

James frowned. “You're a gently bred lady.”

“And consequently too dull for Newbury who felt restless at home. He was always looking for the next exploit while I preferred to avoid taking unnecessary risk. When he suggested we go to France, I tried to explain to him that the thought of boarding a ship terrifies me. He seemed sympathetic enough, but the next morning I found him gone—­off to the Continent for six months.” She glanced away. “When he returned, I attempted to reignite the initial romance between us, but it was to no avail. Instead of getting better, our marriage declined. He began drinking heavily, took a mistress and gambled excessively. His temper increased and then finally, one morning when he arrived home from a night out, he struck me for no apparent reason.” Wincing, she closed her eyes against the memory.