This Earl Is on Fire (13 page)

It happened so fast, he barely caught a glimpse. Yet in the next instant, that single blossom erupted in a sudden scattering of pink.

Liam was impressed. But more than that, something inside of him shifted, like a loadstone fracturing beneath a heavy weight. Adeline Pimm was positively lethal. He would do well to remember that.

By this point, Juliet and Thayne returned their attention to the group. “That was simply marvelous!” Juliet exclaimed but then lowered her voice and clapped softly.

Thayne's mouth opened and then closed, like a fish. “However did you learn to do that?”

“When I was a child,” Adeline began, “I used to stave off boredom by flicking my dolls off the end of my bed.” The full story she kept to herself but with a glance to Liam. The rest remained shared only between them.

Juliet sidled up to Adeline and linked arms with her. “I must learn how you do that. I have a mind to take you for a ride through the park one day this week, so that we may practice on trees with low-hanging leaves.”

Adeline beamed. “I would like that very much.”

“I am an early riser and prefer the park when it is quiet. Would it be too much to ask if I called upon you earlier than what is good form? The day after tomorrow?”

“Being from the country, we are early risers as well.”

As the pair of them walked away, Liam forced his feet to remain fixed to the floor.

Somehow this was turning into more than simply coming to her aid to protect her from the gossips. Much more.

T
he Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence

The highly anticipated Select Seventy gathered last night at Lady St—'s elegant home. In a surprise to many, this most coveted event transformed into the Seventy-Seven instead! The last-minute guests included the Duke and Duchess of V—, not to mention the shocking appearance of a certain earl. While rumors about an attack on W— were earlier refuted, the ghastly evidence speaks for itself. For the time being, however, we withhold judgment on our wolfish earl. For as we know of all canines, there are some you simply do not invite into your home, or else risk being bitten.

“A
ugh!”
Adeline shouted as she threw the paper down onto the secretaire in her bedchamber. That last line was clearly a jab at her family. It seemed no matter what they did, they could not alter the
ton
's opinion of them.

She'd come to London to prove herself capable of being just like any other debutante, but she could not find the opportunity to do so. And more than that, it was no longer solely about her. Liam was involved.

It truly angered her that society portrayed Liam as a man without any morals, especially when he'd sacrificed his own recovery for her. Did these society people have no eyes? Couldn't they see how much he'd struggled; how exertion shortened his breaths and flared his nostrils; how his dark pupils expanded as his gaze searched for a place to rest and find comfort?

No, of course they had not. They were more concerned with her reputation and her parents' supposed gullibility. Which was likely the reason they had received no invitations to any party or ball this evening.

She sincerely hoped that her new friends were not looked upon as fools for assisting her. And even more so, that the dowager duchess would not suffer spiteful whispers for having invited the Pimms as her special guests to the dinner ball she was hosting for Liam's Uncle Albert and Cousin Gemma.

Staring down at the letters she'd written to each of them this morning, she wondered if they showed the abundance of her appreciation, or if she should pen new letters instead.

Before she came to a conclusion, Hester tapped quietly on the open door. “Pardon me, miss, but I found this key on the side table of the room across the hall. It does not fit into that door, and so I wondered if you knew where it belonged.”

Instantly, Adeline recognized the cloverleaf bow. It was the key to the hidden door between this house and the next.

Liam's house
. A shiver of excitement rushed through her, but she did her best to conceal it. Holding out her hand, she said, “Not to worry. I will find its proper place.”

The maid frowned. “I shouldn't want to overtax you. In fact, I can ask Mr. Finley—”

“I am perfectly capable of completing this task,” Adeline interrupted, her tone more forceful than she'd used before.

Hester blinked, taken aback. Then she curtsied and summarily opened her hand. “Thank you, miss.”

As Hester left the chamber, Adeline curled the key into her palm so tightly that it made an instant impression. She would find the
proper place
for this key. And if that particular door should open by accident . . .

Well, how could she resist such an adventure?

T
he second floor hall at Sudgrave Terrace was crowded with statues, urns, marble busts, and an assortment of bric-a-brac. There were also dozens of crates that had yet to be opened, and not one single servant within sight. The house was pleasantly dark, the curtains still closed, the air a bit dusty.

Liam knew it would take some time to arrange the house so that it was livable, but this wasn't even close yet. He thought when he'd asked Rendell to find tenants for one part of the house—as Liam had always despised an empty house—that his steward would have arranged to have all three properties readied.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Liam heard no sound from below either, which meant no footmen to finish uncrating his collection. He was completely alone—a state he should have become used to by now. Yet for some reason, he was more aware of it than ever before.

“How clever!” a familiar lush voice exclaimed from the opposite end of the hall.

Liam turned his head to see Adeline emerge through the adjoining door. The tension he felt a moment ago suddenly evaporated, the emptiness no longer pressing upon him. He told himself that he would have felt the same way had it been a servant who'd entered just then, but he knew better. He wasn't at all certain that he liked the realization either.

“Have you come to spy on me, Miss Pimm?”

She gasped and turned quickly in his direction. “I was not aware you'd returned. I thought you'd left us.”

Still accustomed to lower lighting, he could see her fidget with the end of the plaited hair drawn over her shoulder. She blinked as if to see the vague silhouette of him at the far end of the hall. “I have only come to check on a few objects here, nothing more.”

She did not pout, as he'd expected, but flicked her hair back and dusted her hands together. “I don't suppose we could be rid of you even if we wanted. You are, after all, our landlord for as long as we remain in town.”

He took pleasure in knowing that he could smile without a witness. That he could reveal how much he liked the way she teased him. “Whatever length of time it is, I'm certain it will seem an eternity.”

“Especially now,” she agreed with a nod.

Her sudden lack of humor made him question, “Why now, precisely?”

“I've had two days to ponder, and I've come to the conclusion that you should not have kissed me.”

Liam was just about to agree. He even decided to ignore the fact that she'd been thinking about their kiss for two days. But then she continued, and all thought instantly left his brain. All the blood too, for it rushed south.

“But I enjoyed what you did with your tongue. It was quite . . . enlightening.” She ended with a dreamy smile.

He was glad she stood twenty paces from him or else he would have given her a reason to smile again. All day.
Hell
, all year.

“In what way?” he asked because, well, apparently he was an idiot.

She paid no heed, turning her attention to an urn instead. “Only that I can imagine what a morsel of food feels like inside your mouth.”

Bollocks
. He was as hard as a marble Priapus.
But wait,
his scholarly instruction chimed in to save him, Priapus was the god of fertility, among other things. And fertility meant offspring, and offspring meant marriage—
or rather one before the other—
and he wasn't going to marry anyone. Not for another thirty years. Therefore, he needed to stop thinking with his marble protrusion.

He cleared his throat, deciding that a complete change in topic was in order. “That urn is a recent addition to my collection.”

With hands clasped behind her back, she bent to study the mosaic pattern. “It is quite interesting. Though it does not resemble the black Grecian urns I've seen.”

“This was unearthed along the Elbe. The rough texture of the clay and the distinct grayish hue indicate that it was made by an ancient people. I do believe that is volcanic glass, though I am not certain. Nor have I determined the era.”

Normally, he wasn't so free in speaking about his studies. There were only a few people he trusted with his secret—his aunt; his cousin; a fellow scholar, Lord Caulfield; and now, apparently, Adeline.

A measure of trepidation shivered down his spine like the touch of a ghost from his past.
Did
Liam trust her? As much as he'd tried thus far, he'd been unable to find a reason not to do.

He let out a breath. The weight of it leaving his lungs made him somewhat lighter.

“You speak as if you enjoy the puzzle it presents,” she said.

He nodded, strangely pleased by her understanding of his nature. “In fact, I am presenting a lecture at the Royal Society on ancient marbles and forgeries.”

There. He'd done it again, offering her another secret, and this time without a cold chill.

She straightened, facing him, her eyes bright. “How thrilling!”

“Vale was appointed a fellowship recently and asked me to speak.” Distracted, he didn't even realize he'd begun walking toward her. “That was after I became aware of a surprising number of forgeries finding their way into private collections, and Vale thought I could use my knowledge to shed some light on the issue.”

“Have you any forgeries in your collection?”

“A few, yes. I like to compare them to the originals.” He told her of the head of Aphrodite that his uncle had sold him and how it differed from the one his own father had purchased—though it had been considered “lost” from the collection that Elgin had brought to London more than fifteen years ago. “Not many people know about the traces of blue paint left on the original sculpture.”

And other than Vale, no one else knew that he had the original in his collection as well.

She tilted her head up at him. Only then did he realize that he'd stopped within arm's reach of her. “I would love to see it and hear your lecture. I find this all fascinating.”

And he would love nothing more than to show her, but . . . “I'm afraid it is not here.” He hated seeing her disappointment in the subtle shrug of her shoulders, the fade of her smile. “But I will open any crate here that you wish.”

And then her lips curved again as she laughed softly. “Thank you for humoring me, but perhaps we can talk about this one.” She turned again to the urn. “I cannot decide if the women are holding spears, planting trees, or . . .”

“I'm not certain I remember. This is a new acquisition for my collection,” he said, using it as an excuse to move closer. He was drawn by her complete absorption of the mosaic. He remembered feeling that way—still felt it—the awe and wonder. “Ah, yes. They are gathering sheaves of wheat, symbolizing . . .”

He coughed on the final word. He couldn't seem to escape it.

“Fertility,” she supplied for him. “And prosperity, I believe.”

Now it was his turn to be impressed. “Very good.”

“As I mentioned before, I've had time to read at length. However, it is a joy to see something like this, to be able to touch it and feel what the person who created it must have felt.” She studied the figures, stroking her fingertips along the obsidian. “Hmm . . . In looking closely at the women, I see different hues of glass used for their abdomens. It is a shade lighter.”

It was? He looked again, angling closer.

“Remarkable. I had not noticed this before,” he admitted, somewhat enthralled. But not by the mosaic. By
her
. He bent so that his head was at her level, examining the urn as if for the first time. He traced the glass with his fingertip, following the path hers had taken.

“You have to be in just the right light.”

He felt her breath against his cheek, and a shudder tumbled through him, tripping over every nerve on its way. If he turned his head, he knew he would kiss her. Hell, if he turned his head, he knew he would do
more
than kiss her. And it was only because he wanted to so badly that he didn't. The intensity of his desire frightened him.

“I've found such symbolic imagery on other pieces before,” he said, his voice so hoarse that it wavered slightly. He wanted to stand erect and move apart from her, but there was no way for him to disguise the effect she had on him. So he remained uncomfortably hunched over and tried to distract himself with a more scholarly approach. “Historically, such symbols came during times of blight that destroyed the harvests. People starved. Populations dwindled. Which would mean that you are correct. They were asking for an abundance of food
and
births. Their survival depended upon it.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice oddly strained. Then she turned pale suddenly, straightened, and backed away. “Of course it did.”

He stopped her before she could leave. “What is the matter, Adeline? Did I say something to offend you?” Never before had he worried over offending anyone.

“No. You know very well that you did not. I enjoyed your lesson. It's just that . . .” She frowned. “My own guilt began to creep upon me like a blight of its own.”

“I don't understand what you mean.”

Adeline pressed her lips together and touched them with her fingertips, her discomfiture apparent. For her sake, he was about to alter their topic, when, after a small hesitation, she drew in a deep breath and began.

“My mother had wanted a large family. As you've likely noticed, she has the nature for it. However, because of me, she was unable to bear any more children. I was a difficult birth. Breech, I was told. Anyway, my leg was broken during the process, but it went unnoticed because Father and Uncle Peirce were busy trying to save her life, as they ought to have done.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “And the worst part of it all is the fact that my father and my mother have carried the burden of guilt over my leg all these years.”

His hands skimmed down her arms as realization dawned. “And you carry guilt over theirs.”

She nodded. “Always. Even more so since I've decided not to marry. Which leaves them without grandchildren as well. I am truly a horrible and selfish child.”

“Then why not marry to ease the burden for everyone?”

She looked up at him with those clear, luminous eyes. “I cannot.”

“Why not?” He wondered if there was a man who had once spurned her. Had her heart been broken? Set on a gentleman who did not fancy her?

She averted her gaze. “I don't want to be coddled for the rest of my life. I want to be seen as someone who is capable of doing everything that any other woman can do. That is why I am here. I want to prove myself to my parents that I am just like all the other young women of society. And by the time we return to Boswickshire, they will rely upon me so that I can begin to repay them for all they've sacrificed.”