Her Errant Earl (3 page)

He hadn’t been prepared to desire her. Or to feel compassion
for her. It was unsettling, to say the least. She smelled like orris root and
damn if he didn’t like the scent more than Maria’s preferred French rose.

She had asked him not to lie to her any longer. But if he
told her the real reason for his return, she’d leave him for certain, ruining
any chance he had to produce an heir. He couldn’t afford to lose everything. He
had no doubt his father would leave him destitute. The entail was very
insignificant at this point, a mere few thousand pounds a year and Carrington
House. Thanks to the marriage settlement orchestrated by the old miser duke,
the bulk of Victoria’s substantial dowry had been left in the care of his
father, out of Pembroke’s reach. While a stipulated sum had been set aside
specifically for Carrington House, it was to be kept in trust by the duke,
doled out as he saw fit. Pembroke was at his father’s mercy.

He kissed her rather than answering her. It seemed easier.
He was good at lovemaking, if little else. She tasted like chocolate. Her mouth
opened for him, and he swept his tongue inside, hungry for more of her. He slid
his palm up her back, the sensation of her fine silk against his traveling hand
tantalizing him. His other hand traced her wasp-like waist before lingering
over her breast.

Suddenly, his desire accelerated from a flame into a more
uncontrollable fire. He didn’t merely want her. He had to have her, to be
inside her, to claim her. He hadn’t had a woman in weeks. Maria had bored him,
and if he were honest, he’d only been using her as a means of infuriating the
duke. But this all-consuming lust he felt for his wife was something new and
incredibly potent.

Groaning into her mouth, he led her backward until her
derriere rested on the edge of the breakfast table. He reached around her,
trying but failing to find her bottom in the elaborate bustle at the back of
her skirts. Instead, he lifted her and settled her upon the table. She was
deuced petite compared to him, her head scarcely reaching his chest. Her new
position allowed him better access.

He dragged his mouth down her throat, finding it soft and creamy
white. A high, stiff collar with a small bow stopped him from exploring her
décolletage as he wanted. Damn women’s peculiar fashions. He cupped her breast,
jealous of her corset. Her bosom was much larger than he’d recalled, high and
firm and begging to be admired.

“Pembroke.” Victoria’s throaty murmur cut into his
passion-hazed thoughts, an unwanted interruption.

“What is it, my dear?” He licked a path to her ear, then
caught her lobe in his teeth for a gentle nibble.

“You cannot erase what’s happened with kisses.” She placed
her palms on his shoulders and pushed.

He permitted her to put some space between them, even though
his body cried out at the denial. “I don’t seek to erase,” he said with the
most honesty he’d given her since his return. “I seek a new beginning.” Because
he had to win her over or face the consequences. He wisely kept that bit to
himself.

“I do not think I can let you,” she whispered, her small,
heart-shaped face cast with a stricken expression.

Why had he never noticed the vivid green of her eyes? It was
like staring into the grass in spring, bright and precious after a cruel
winter. Her lips were red with his kisses, too large for fashion but
nevertheless inviting. Her golden hair had been tricked into an elaborate
coiffure he wanted to undo. Last night, he’d sworn her blonde curls had gone to
her waist. She was stunning.

He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first
time, and mayhap he was. She wasn’t at all plain. She wasn’t a typical English
beauty, true. But she was lovely nonetheless, and suddenly, he wanted to bed
her more than he’d ever wanted to take another woman in his life. Perhaps it
was because she was denying him. Perhaps it was because she was different. She
was his, and yet he didn’t deserve her. He didn’t know why he wanted her with
such unexpected desperation, and with the insistent hardness of his cock, he
was sure he didn’t care.

“You can let me, my dear. I am your husband,” he cajoled,
giving her another sound kiss.

She kissed him in return, her arms going round his neck for
the first time. He thought he was gaining ground until she stopped, tearing her
mouth away. Her eyes were wide and expressive. “I cannot. You don’t understand,
Pembroke. It’s too hard.” She pushed at him again and he moved, although the
force she exerted wasn’t enough to move a baby rabbit.

Victoria hopped down from the table, her breathing visibly
heavy. Her expression was nearly indecipherable, but perhaps a combination of
agony and longing. He hoped for the longing, at least. The rest of his life
depended upon it.

“I will prove myself to you,” he vowed, even if he hadn’t
the slightest notion of how he could accomplish such a feat. After all, he had
no choice. He never had.

Victoria feared she could no longer remain at Carrington
House as long as her husband insisted upon taking up residence there. Well over
a week had passed since his abrupt arrival, and he had acted the part of doting
husband each day. It was becoming increasingly impossible for her to remain
aloof. She didn’t want to give him the opportunity to cause her any further
hurt and humiliation. She couldn’t trust him, no matter how gallant or handsome
he could be. To that end, she had decided that if he didn’t wish to return to
London, she would in his stead. The only trouble with her resolution was that
she had yet to inform Pembroke.

It seemed unseasonably warm as she wandered about in the
gardens, even for summer, sun beating upon the pathway she walked. The heady
scent of roses in bloom wafted to her. Carrington House’s elaborate gardens
were one of the few things that had given her life as the Countess of Pembroke
a sense of purpose. When she’d arrived, they had been dreadfully in need of
care, despite the admirable work of the estate’s capable Head Gardener. His
focus had been more put upon the fresh vegetables and fruits grown to be sent
up to the London townhouse. She took great satisfaction in admiring the beauty
produced by her efforts.

The crunching of gravel startled her, interrupting her
musings. She turned to see her husband round the bend, stalking in her
direction. He wore trousers and a plain coat with no neckcloth, almost as
though he hadn’t finished dressing. His expression was thunderous.

Oh dear. Perhaps he’d somehow caught wind of her plans.

He didn’t stop until he towered over her. His eyes snapped,
his mouth flat with obvious displeasure. “Madam.”

“Good morning, Pembroke,” she greeted, wary. She’d been
attempting to escape without his notice.

He sketched an abbreviated bow that seemed at odds with the
tenseness hovering in the air between them. “Would you care to explain why I’ve
been informed that you are traveling to London?”

Her hopes sagged. “I haven’t the slightest notion why you
were informed as I specifically directed the servants not to.”

“Indeed?” He raised a brow, looking arrogant and sinfully
handsome at the same time. “Why would you keep it from me?”

Victoria aimed her gaze at a safer point over his shoulder.
He was too gorgeous to look at, and doing so would only melt her determination
all the more. “I should think that’s obvious.”

He took her hands in his and she wished she’d worn gloves.
The contact sent her mind spinning.

“Are you running from me?”

“Of course not,” she lied.

“Look at me.” He caught her chin and forced her to meet his
gaze. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” she snapped, irritated that he had
chosen now of all times to become observant for the first time in their union.
It was too late for him to be the husband she’d yearned for. Wasn’t it?

“I don’t think I am being preposterous,” he said slowly, his
fingers still lingering on her face. His eyes searched hers. He leaned into
her, bending his head so that she was certain he would kiss her. “Not at all.”

And then as if suddenly losing interest, he released her and
stepped away, leaving Victoria bereft and disappointed on the path. Had she
imagined the heat in his gaze, the suggestion in his touch? She didn’t know.

“I understand you have taken our gardens here under your
care,” he said, surprising her with his change of subject. “I must say, the
changes you’ve wrought are incredible.”

She hadn’t expected that he would care enough to ask the
servants about her. She certainly hadn’t expected that he would praise her
efforts. Warmth unfurled within her belly. “Thank you.”

“I have it from the Head Gardener himself that you put an
admirable amount of effort into restoring the grounds to their former
splendor.” His back was to her as he sniffed a luscious red bloom. “I expect
the gardens hadn’t been properly looked after since the times of the Tudors at
least.” He turned to face her once more, a teasing grin on his lips, a rose in
his hand. She wondered how he’d picked it without being pricked by a thorn.

“Not the Tudors, I’m sure,” she murmured, unaccountably
nervous to be at the center of his attention and compliments.

“Perhaps I exaggerate.” He winked and closed the distance
between them, holding the rose for her to smell.

She inhaled deeply of its glorious scent, never removing her
gaze from his. “Roses possess the loveliest aroma, do you not think?”

“Not the loveliest.” His expression sobered. “I prefer your
scent.”

Her heart took up a gallop. He had noticed her scent? Or was
he merely trying to woo her? She decided to put him to the test. “What is my scent?”

“Orris root,” he answered without hesitation. He dragged the
silken petals of the rose down her bare throat. “I never realized before just
how desirable I find it.”

He’d known. She licked her suddenly dry lips. He was doing
wicked things to her senses, making her want what she’d be better off not
wanting. “Desirable?”

He nodded. “Almost as desirable as you.”

When his mouth brushed hers ever so softly, her knees
threatened to buckle. She sighed and the kiss deepened, his tongue slipping
inside to tease hers. He smelled like rich shaving soap. She locked her arms
around his neck, leaning into his hard frame. It didn’t seem fair that he could
undo all her resolve with a few kind words and a kiss, but that didn’t make it
any less true. She wanted him.

Pembroke tore his lips from hers. “I don’t want you to
leave, Victoria,” he murmured.

“I didn’t want you to leave either,” she reminded him, her
voice breathless. “But you did.”

“I’m here now.” He gave her another slow, maddening kiss.
“Come, let’s go for a walk and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

She accepted the arm he proffered, and they began a
leisurely stroll. It occurred to her that he was leading her farther away from
the main house, out of sight of prying eyes. Pembroke hadn’t walked with her
like this since the days of their courtship, and it sent a warm wave of
nostalgia over her.

She cast him a sidelong glance. “I haven’t been on a stroll
about the gardens with a man in quite some time.”

“I daresay.” He cleared his throat, looking pensive. “I must
thank you for the work you’ve done here in my absence, Victoria. I understand
you’ve done a great deal more than just oversee the gardens. I’m afraid I’ve
often been remiss in my duties.”

She had, and she was quite stunned he would even bother
himself to find out what she’d done at Carrington House over the last few
months. She inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord. My mother saw to it that I
had a fair head for running a smooth household. Keeping ledgers has always been
an odd hobby of mine anyway.”

“Nevertheless, you needn’t have. I didn’t expect it of you.”

His gratitude left her bemused. She didn’t know what to do
with a Pembroke who wasn’t disappearing and causing scandal. “I am your wife,”
she said simply. “It was my duty.”

“Ah, but I did not do my duty to you.”

She stopped and relinquished his arm, facing him again.
Victoria had suffered far too much at his hands to pretend she hadn’t. “No,”
she agreed quietly, “you did not.”

His expression turned wry. “I have been thinking of how I
can make amends.”

“I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she said, taking
pity on him a bit. “You didn’t want a wife.”

“It is true that my father forced my hand, but I begin to
find I rather like having a wife.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t go to London.
Stay here with me. Carrington House needs you.”

Carrington House, he’d said, but not him. The omission was
glaring. “I’ve drafted a list of changes that need to be made here. It’s with
the estate ledgers. You may feel free to use it.”

“I don’t want a list,” he murmured, his tone low and
intimate, sending warmth through her. “I want you. Tell me, what can be on this
list of yours?”

She fought to keep her composure. “I recommend a raise for
loyal retainers. It’s difficult indeed to keep good servants these days.”

He lowered his head, his lips exceedingly near to hers.
“What else?”

She wanted him to kiss her. Her mind went suddenly blank
save for the need to feel his mouth upon hers. “I can’t recall,” she admitted
on a whisper.

“You see?” He grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You must
stay. What if I’ve questions about your list? What if you think of more changes
to add to it?”

He was very good at destroying her defenses. Very good
indeed. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave in to him it could well prove
her undoing.

“I need you,” he said finally. “Please stay.”

Those three words were all she needed to hear. “I shall
stay,” she relented. “For a few days.”

“You won’t regret it, my dear.” He drew her hand to his lips
for a lingering kiss, his stare searing her.

She fervently hoped he was right.

* * * * *

After turning about the gardens with Pembroke, Victoria
returned to her rooms to announce her change of plans to her lady’s maid,
Keats, only to find that her husband had already called off her trip without
her knowledge. He was very sure of her, she thought to herself. Perhaps too
sure of her.

It was a niggling concern in her mind as she joined him for
dinner that evening as had become their routine. She would do best to guard her
heart, even if she wanted nothing more than to believe Pembroke was the changed
man he proposed to be.

“You are utterly lovely,” he murmured to her as he escorted
her to dinner.

She’d chosen one of her best Worth gowns to wear that
evening, a silk, satin and velvet evening gown of dark green and ivory. The
bodice hugged her curves and emphasized her bosom. It was complete with a skirt
of shot cream silk and a drape of handmade French lace. The gown was from her
trousseau, very different from the demure pastel gowns her mother had chosen
for her before her marriage. She’d never had an occasion to wear it. Until now.

“You are very handsome yourself,” she said, admiring the way
his formal black trousers and coat hugged his impossibly tall and strong form.

He covered her hand with his for a moment and winked at her,
ever the charming flirt. She supposed he was accustomed to hearing compliments
from the fairer sex. On the contrary, his words of praise were rare for her to
hear, trapped away as she’d been in the country. Even before her marriage,
however, she’d always considered herself plain. There were many women with far
greater beauty than she possessed, women who commanded the interest of men like
Pembroke. In their shadow, she was a mere mouse.

Despite herself, he was winning her over, maybe because she
wanted to believe in him so very much. Or perhaps it was because she was still
the same romantic fool he’d wed. She didn’t know. He seated her and lingered at
her elbow, his spicy scent toying with her senses. He hadn’t come to her
chamber since the night he’d returned, and the knot of longing in her belly was
growing.

It was dangerous ground she treaded now. Victoria focused
her gaze on the lovely spray of English daisies and roses upon the table as she
thanked Pembroke for his escort.

“You are most welcome,” he said, his voice a low, velvety
timbre in her ear.

Unless she was mistaken, he hesitated just long enough to
deliver a quick nibble to her earlobe before straightening and rounding the
table. His expression remained impassive as he seated himself. Had she imagined
the delicious tug of his teeth upon her? The peculiar sensation of restlessness
skittering through her suggested that she had not.

Awkward silence descended as the first course, a lovely
smelling turtle soup, was laid before them. Pembroke abruptly directed the
servants to leave them alone, startling Victoria. Ordinarily, their dinners
were a very staid affair, always attended by servants.

She looked at him askance, trying not to notice how rakishly
handsome he appeared with his too-long mahogany locks brushing the collar of
his coat, his lively eyes sparkling in that too-handsome face, his mobile mouth
always quirked with a hint of naughtiness.

“Everywhere I look, it seems I find another change wrought
by the fair hand of my wife. I see you’ve done away with the powdered wigs,” he
noted when the door had closed, leaving them completely alone.

When she’d arrived at Carrington House, everything had been
outmoded. She knew from experience that these days, country houses rarely
required footmen to wear the wigs so preferred by previous generations unless
it was the most formal of occasions. She was once again at a loss. He had
always seemed far too busy being a devil-may-care to pay attention to the dress
of his servants.

“Almost no one requires it any longer,” she offered.
“Scratchy, dreadfully uncomfortable things, I’m told, though still preferable
to powder.”

“Indeed?” He raised a brow. “Do you make it a habit of
inquiring after the welfare of all my footmen?”

“Most certainly not.” She flushed, having difficulty
concentrating with his gaze pinned upon her. “I asked my lady’s maid when I
contemplated the change. It seemed so silly to continue the practice unless we
actually had guests in residence. Do you object, my lord?”

“Pray call me William when we are alone, my dear. We are
husband and wife, are we not? As it happens, I do not mind the absence of the
wigs. Always looked as if they were about to slide off anyhow.” He tasted his
soup. “Delightful. I shall have to pass my compliments to Mrs. Rufton.”

She hadn’t known much of Pembroke as the master of his
estate. But from what she’d gleaned from belowstairs gossip related to her by
her lady’s maid, he hadn’t been the sort to notice anything in his household
unless it affected his own pleasures. Yet it appeared he had gone to great
length over the course of the last week to take note of even the tiniest
changes she’d made.