The Earl Takes All

by Lorraine Heath

  “You might not care about Julia, but I do.”

  “But if Edward has the right of it and telling her causes her to lose the babe, the last gift Albert will ever bestow upon her, how will you feel then?”

  Ashe’s shoulders slumping slightly, he stepped back. “I loved Albert like a brother.”

  “But like a brother is not the same as being a brother,” Locke said. “Not to mention neither of us was there when Albert drew his last. We didn’t hear his final words nor did we witness the desperation that might have laced them.”

  Be me, he’d gasped. Be me. Edward had never realized how much power two small words, four letters, could hold.

  “Do you have to always be so bloody logical?” Ashe asked.

  Locke raised his glass. “I wouldn’t complain if I were you. My being logical contributed to you gaining your wife.”

  Shaking his head, Ashe turned his attention back to Edward. “Have you truly thought this through? How far along is she? Somewhere between seven and eight months? You’re looking at several weeks of pretending to love Julia when the two of you have never gotten along, when all of London knows you can hardly stand to be in the same room with her,” he said, getting to the crux of what he surely believed was the challenge Edward had set for himself.

  If only it was that uncomplicated. After that blasted, ill-­conceived kiss in the garden years ago, she’d never taken kindly to him, had barely tolerated his presence. Not that he blamed her. During the intervening years, his behavior had been less than exemplary. “I have considered it from every angle.”

  Balling his hands into fists, Ashe scowled. “I can see nothing but disaster on the horizon if you follow this course.”

  “Disaster on the horizon I can deal with when it arrives. My concern presently is avoiding disaster before the babe arrives. I know it won’t be easy—­the past ten days have been horrendous, trying to behave around her as Albert would, and I know I’ve not managed completely because she studies me as though I’m a puzzle with a piece that doesn’t quite fit. So far, I believe, Julia has kindly chalked my odd behavior and requests for solitude up to my grief. Yet I know I can’t use that excuse much longer, so I need to know what gave me away. How did you deduce it was me and not Albert wandering around today?”

  “I don’t know that I can help you with this,” Ashe said. “Deceit does not sit well with me.”

  “And you think it sits well with me?” Edward asked, the pain and agony from weeks of deliberation, guilt, and doubt slicing through his voice. “I convinced him to go with me because I selfishly wanted one last trip together. I wanted him to put me before her. And it cost him his life. All I can do now is strive to ensure it doesn’t cost him his child. It’s all that’s left of my brother. I would have given anything to be the one we laid in the vault this afternoon. But that I cannot change. So I am left with only the ability to keep my promise to him. No matter the cost, no matter how mad it seems, I know no other way to ensure Julia does not lose this child. So help me. If you truly loved Albert as you claim, then help me.”

  With a deep sigh, Ashe walked to the sideboard and poured himself a generous amount of scotch. “We’ve known you since you were seven. While your looks are identical, your mannerisms are not. You don’t rub your right ear.”

  “Ah, damn, yes.” He did so now, pulling on it until it hurt. When he was five, Albert had lost hearing in that ear after Edward shoved him into a frigid pond. Afterward, it pained him from time to time and he would rub it, especially when he was contemplating a matter—­usually trying to determine the best way to bring Edward to task for some misconduct.

  “And you toss back far too much scotch, far too quickly,” Locke said. “I don’t suppose you’ve stopped doing that.”

  “No, but I only do it after she’s gone to bed.”

  Ashe narrowed his eyes. “You don’t go to bed with her?”

  “God, why would I? I’m certainly not going to cuckold my brother even if he is dead.”

  “I can’t speak for Albert, but whether or not I make love to my wife, I sleep with her nestled within my arms.”

  “Because you’re disgustingly in love.”

  “So was he.”

  Edward shook his head. “They have separate bedchambers. I’m safe there.”

  Ashe tilted his head. “So do we.”

  With a harsh curse, Edward filled his glass to the brim with more scotch, walked over to the seating area by the fire and dropped into a comfortable chair. Surely, Julia would have said something if he was supposed to be in her bed. Unless she was crediting his absence as a need to grieve alone. How long before his odd behaviors caused her to worry, added strain to the situation, burdened her until he caused to happen exactly what he was trying to prevent?

  Ashe and Locke joined him, taking nearby chairs. Neither appeared pleased to be there but at least they were no longer looking at him as though he were as mad as the Marquess of Marsden.

  He stared into the writhing flames of the fire, imagined his eternity would be spent thrashing about in the ones ignited in Hell. “I thought about staying in Africa, sending her a telegram with an excuse for our delay, but I knew Albert would haunt me if I left her alone as her time carrying his child neared an end. I’m well versed in the dead haunting the living.”

  “My mother’s ghost screeching over the moors is nothing but my father’s madness,” Locke said.

  “Still, I grew up with it.” Edward glanced over at the two men who had been like brothers. “Do you know if Albert had a special endearment for Julia?”

  Both men blinked, looked at each other, seemed at a loss for words. Finally, Ashe said, “He’s the sort who would have had one, but I never heard him call her anything other than Julia.”

  “Neither did I,” Locke admitted. “It was probably saved for intimate moments.”

  Bloody hell. He’d had such confidence that he could adequately imitate his brother, but they were unveiling countless things he never considered. For the short term, he’d succeeded. For the long term, it was going to require more awareness and effort. “I haven’t sorted through his things. Merely packed them up.” He’d had both his trunk and Albert’s placed in the bedchamber that had been his when he visited. To be gone through later. “Perhaps I’ll find a letter he penned that can provide some answers.” A letter possibly unfinished that would tear at his gut. Death left much undone.

  “Have you contemplated,” Ashe began slowly, tapping his finger against his half-­empty glass, “that you are going to have to abstain completely from any sexual encounters? Considering your past and your appetites, that’s going to create quite the challenge, which I honestly don’t know if you’re up to meeting. But should she hear of you fornicating about, thinking it was Albert being unfaithful to her, that could very well cause her to lose the babe.”

  “I considered that and I plan to be as chaste as a monk.” He released a self-­deprecating laugh. “It might not be as hard as you imagine. None of my previous conquests were here today. And some of them were ladies.” He’d noticed their absence, along with the absence of tears. Not a single one shed for Edward. Christ, attending one’s own funeral was an incredibly humbling experience.

  “Edward—­”

  “Greyling,” Edward said, cutting off Locke. “If my ruse is to have any chance at all of succeeding, you must both acknowledge me as the Earl of Greyling, call me either Greyling or Grey, as you did Albert when it wasn’t only us about. Except now you must do it even when we’re alone. Lest you slip when we’re not.” And he needed to stop thinking of himself as Edward. In manner, thought, and deed, he had to become the Earl of Greyling. At least until Julia delivered the heir.

  Then he would be obliged to do what he did best: give her another reason to hate him by revealing the truth, breaking her heart, and shattering her world.

  Chapter 2

  I
n death, it seemed Edward Alcott was accomplishing what he’d not been able to in life: He was causing Julia to lose Albert. Since his return, Albert seemed to welcome any excuse not to be in her company. She despised that she was experiencing petty jealousy toward a dead man because all of her husband’s focus was on him, that she’d begun to doubt herself and question her husband’s love for her.

  She rather wished now that she hadn’t encouraged him to go, to take one last trip with Edward, but she knew how much he’d enjoyed traveling before she came into his life. Bless him, he’d always sensed how much she worried that something awful might happen while he was away, so he’d curtailed his exploits, which had created a fissure between the brothers. She’d thought the trip would do them all a world of good, might make Edward more accepting of her. It was no secret among the aristocracy that they didn’t quite approve of each other. It saddened her that they’d not been on good terms when he parted this earth.

  Suddenly she became aware of a hand closing around hers on her lap and squeezing.

  “Where have your thoughts gone?” Minerva asked.

  Tea had been prepared and brought to them, but it had grown cold with neither of them touching it. “My apologies. I’m being an awful hostess.”

  “Posh. Under the circumstances, you shouldn’t feel as though you need to be a hostess at all. You looked so sad just then. I think it’s more than the funeral or Edward’s death that’s troubling you. I’m here to listen if you want to talk.”

  It seemed at once a betrayal and a weakness to voice her doubts, but perhaps another’s perspective could shed some light. “Albert’s not been quite himself since he returned.”

  “No doubt grief taking its toll,” Minerva assured her.

  “That’s what I’ve been telling myself. But he’s been so distant, offering and accepting no affection whatsoever. And that is so unlike him. Although I’m a beastly woman for finding fault with his lack of attention during a time such as this.” But how could they console each other when he took all his meals in his room, had yet to visit her bed?

  “You’re not at all beastly, but I do doubt he’s in an amorous mood, considering the circumstances.”

  “I don’t expect him to make love to me. I know I’m hardly attractive in this condition, swollen with child as I am, and as you say, he is distracted, but a gentle kiss would be welcomed.” Even a smile, a soft touch, a reassurance that he still cared for her. After months of being separated, when he’d finally arrived home he just stood there staring at her as though he hardly recognized her. She was the one who had wrapped her arms around him, the one who had squeezed. His only words had been, “I’m sorry.”

  Then he’d marched into the residence as though that were enough.

  “Have patience,” Minerva suggested. “The brothers were extremely close.”

  “I know they were. But we were separated for four months. It was supposed to be only three; however Edward’s death delayed Albert’s return. Not that I’d realized Edward was dead. The telegram Albert sent merely read, ‘Delayed. Return as soon as possible.’ It wasn’t until he arrived in a wagon bearing a wooden box that I learned the truth. That in itself was odd—­not sharing his burdens.”

  “He probably didn’t want to worry you, not in your delicate condition.”

  “Yet I want to be there for him. We’ve always had the sort of marriage where our joys were doubled and our burdens halved. But that’s merely a small indication of how he changed while he was away. During this week, I’ve had moments where I felt as though I don’t even know him at all any longer. Which is ludicrous. He’s my Albert.”

  “Which, my dear, is what you must focus on. He no doubt feels as though he lost half himself in those jungles. The twins, I know, seemed to have a special bond, an attachment far more intimate and stronger than that found between other siblings.”

  “I know you’re right. I just feel as though he’s keeping me at a distance.”

  “Men are odd that way, striving to never show any weakness. I suspect he fears needing you and so he pretends he doesn’t. The very last thing he needs is for you to be pushy. It’ll just make him dig in his heels. Men are stubborn that way. Patience is all you require. He’ll come ’round.”

  She hoped so, as she truly didn’t like this . . . oddness in their relationship. Made her feel out of sorts.

  “How are you feeling with the babe?”

  Welcoming the change in topic, Julia couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she folded her hands on her belly. “Wonderful. Happy about my condition in spite of the sadness over Edward’s passing. I do believe this one is going to stay around to play in the nursery.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I think we’ve given the gentlemen enough time with their scotch. Shall we join them?”

  As she and Minerva strolled into the library, the gentlemen stood, the somberness about them as they sat remaining with them, maybe even closing more tightly around them.

  “Our apologies for being gone so long,” Albert said. “We got caught up in reminiscing. Time got away from us.”

  “We thought as much,” Julia said. “Dinner will be served shortly. Perhaps we might all like to take a moment to freshen up before.”

  “Splendid notion,” he said, then tossed back the amber liquid that remained in his glass. With a grimace, he clenched his jaw, gave his head a barely perceptible shake. It occurred to Julia that Albert never seemed to relish spirits with the enthusiasm of his brother.

  Setting his glass aside, he joined her, offered his arm, and she inhaled his familiar tangy bergamot scent. They left the room in silence, with the others following behind just as solemnly. Because the duke and viscount were more family than friends, Julia had arranged for their bedchambers to be in the family wing, just down the hall from the master suite.

  As they reached her door, she turned to her guests. “Shall we plan on meeting back in the library in half an hour?”

  “That should be sufficient time,” Minerva said. “It’s not as though we’ll be changing out of our crepe.”

  No. Julia would give Edward the full six months of mourning due him as her husband’s brother. She would go into labor wearing black.

  “Grey,” Ashebury said with a nod to Albert, before nudging his wife down the hallway.

  “Thank you, Julia, for everything,” Locksley offered quietly before heading to his room.

  Albert opened the door to her bedchamber and followed her in. It was the first time he’d been in the room since his return. She didn’t know why her stomach fluttered with the thought.

  Glancing around, his gaze seeming to dart past the four-­poster bed, he walked over to the window, looked out on the dark clouds gathering in the distance. It was a cold, dreary day but at least the rain had held off. “I’ve not had a chance to thank you for everything you did for . . . my brother. The service you arranged was lovely. You went to a great deal of bother to give him a nice send-­off.”

  Cautiously, she approached, stopping just shy of touching him. Quite honestly, he looked as though he could easily shatter. “I’m sorry more people didn’t come.” She’d been appalled that so few of the nobility had attended the service. If not for the servants whom she’d required to attend, the church would have been embarrassingly near empty. “I think with the distance and the storm threatening—­”

  “I think Edward wasn’t as well-­liked as he thought.”

  “We received many letters of condolence. I placed them in a black box and put it on your desk, so you can read them at your leisure. I think you’ll draw comfort from them.” He’d been too sorrow-­filled, lost in his grief, to pay much attention to correspondence, so she’d seen to it for him.

  “I’m certain I will.” He shifted his gaze to hers, and as always she found herself falling into the dark depths. “You’re very thoughtful.”

  “You say that as though
you’re surprised.”

  He gave his head a quick shake and looked back out the window. “No, I just . . . I can’t seem to regain my footing with my brother gone.”

  “You will.” She rubbed his upper arm. “You will. But speaking of footing, I must sit down. My feet are killing me.”

  He swung around. “You’re in pain? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s only my feet. They’ve begun swelling of late. I just need to put them up—­Albert!”

  He’d swept her up into his arms as though she weighed no more than a feather pillow, as though she wasn’t this ungainly creature. Then he was glancing around as though he didn’t know quite what to do with her now that he had her. Her heart was hammering, her fingers clutching his shoulders. He’d not carried her since their wedding night, and when he’d set her on the bed—­

  She warmed with the memories of their coming together as man and wife. Surely, they were not now on the verge of engaging in frenzied lovemaking.

  In long, sure strides he headed to the bed and placed her on it as gently as though she were hand-­blown glass. With a swiftness to his actions that she’d not seen since he left for his trip, he shoved pillows behind her back. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes, but a chair would have sufficed.”

  “Where’s your button hook?”

  “Top left drawer of the dressing table, but if I remove my shoes I won’t be able to get them back on for dinner.”

  “You can go barefoot. No.” He gave his head another shake, began walking away. “You’re not going to dinner. I’ll have a tray brought to you here.”

  “I can’t ignore our guests.”

  Coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of the bed, he glowered at her. “They’re not guests, they’re family. They’ll understand or they’ll damned well answer to me.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from staring at this man, her husband, unable to recall a single time when he’d been so forceful. She couldn’t quite fathom why she found his behavior—­him—­so appealing at that moment. She’d always been attracted to him, but this was something more. He always deferred to Ashebury, for instance, had never stood up to him. Not that he’d had a reason to, but still.