This Earl Is on Fire

by Vivienne Lorret

  The more Liam spoke, the deeper, more suggestive his voice became, and all the while he held Adeline’s gaze. It was all she could do not to leap out of the carriage and onto his lap.

  Juliet cleared her throat. “Wolford, you would do better to hie yourself back to one of your houses to break your fast.”

  “What makes you think I have not broken my fast already?”

  Juliet glanced from Wolford to Adeline and back again. “Because you look positively ravenous.”

  He grinned, and rather wickedly too.

  When he made no denial, Adeline’s cheeks flamed. Oh, why did she not want to look away? “It must be a trick of the light.”

  “A trick of some sort, to be sure,” Juliet muttered. “I am convinced you came this way to lure my friend into scandal. Then our efforts would be for naught.”

  “What scandal can be had in an open curricle?” His eyebrows lifted in innocence, but the tilt of his mouth suggested he knew quite a few ways. “There would be none at all if you joined us.”

  He spoke as if Adeline had already agreed. Likely she should be offended by his presumption. But who was she fooling? She wanted to go more than anything. She could be cross with him later.

  “There is hardly room for you, let alone two or three. Besides, it looks like rain.”

  “I do not mind the rain,” Adeline said, unable to help herself. “And the moment the first drop hits, we could return to your carriage.”

  Juliet peered around them, considering. “Hmm . . . There is no one about. Most sensible people are still abed, and the gossips too, I imagine. Very well. However, I will remain here. Quite honestly, Adeline, I’m a little frightened of that contraption. I’ve seen them here before, and they go dreadfully fast.”

  Adeline’s heart raced. She could barely contain her excitement. Her hand reached for the door at the same time that Wolford opened it. With a backward wave, she said, “I won’t be a minute.”

  Liam secured her beside him and felt his mistake immediately. A shudder wracked through him at their close press of bodies. It was so powerful that he had to close his eyes against it . . . or to savor it. He wasn’t quite sure.

  “Hold on, Miss Pimm. This is going to be only a short jaunt but fast.” He enjoyed taking his time in most activities that brought him pleasure. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain he could trust himself beside her for too long. Yesterday had drained his resistance.

  “I don’t know what to hold on to. There is nothing but a frail bend of metal along the side of this seat.”

  “Then hold on to me.” He snapped the reins, leaving her without much choice. Unfortunately for him, she settled her arm along the back of the seat instead. But the view her position provided—the modestly cut blue muslin pulling taut against the inviting swells of her breasts—made the sacrifice worth it.

  She let out a lush laugh as the horse sprinted away and down the length of the track. “I’m so happy I could burst. If it wouldn’t ruin my reputation, I would kiss you again, Wolford. Right here.”

  “Don’t burst, or you’ll frighten my horse.”

  After the turn, the first sprinkles of rain began. Hell. “We should head back.” Since they were the only ones on the track, they could. A distant rumble of thunder warned him to slow.

  “No, please.” Adeline set her hand over his on the reins.

  “You’ll be wet through,” he warned, his wicked mind veering slightly when he saw the beads were already clinging to her lips. And when she licked the rain away, he nearly groaned. “Then so be it. I want to be wet through. I want this adventure, Wolford.”

  Now it was his turn to tilt his head back and laugh at the heavens above them. But his was far more sardonic. “Promise me one thing first, Miss Pimm.”

  “Of course.” She said, far too eager, far too naïve.

  “Say those words to me once more.”

  She looked at him peculiarly, tilting her head. Then in no time at all, she released his hand, and a deeper color bloomed on her cheeks. “I don’t know why I am blushing but have a feeling that I should not repeat what I said.”

  He grinned at her and snapped the reins. “Likely not, for I am greedy and would ask you to say it again and again.”

  Adeline stared out the carriage window and watched Liam drive his gig away. Even though both Juliet and she had offered to share the carriage, he’d insisted on driving himself, stating that he’d been abed too long and that the rain would do him good. Before he left, however, he withdrew a dry handkerchief and gave it to Adeline.

  Thankfully, there was nothing more than a drizzle or else she would worry about him. But who was she kidding? She would worry about him all the same.

  “I hope you can forgive me,” Adeline said, blotting her face. “It was impossibly rude of me to leave you here.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, silly. I believe we should seize moments of daring whenever we are able. Otherwise, how can we know what lives inside of us?” Juliet spoke with undeniable certainty, while her smile was somewhat wistful. “Besides, if it had not been for the rain, I surely would have gone. Wolford is rather persuasive, after all. Not only that, but he seemed . . . determined to make it happen. I have never seen him thusly.”

  Adeline couldn’t imagine him any other way. “I have no knowledge of him other than who he is now. What was he like before?”

  Juliet pursed her lips in thought. “I did not know him well, mind you. There had only been a handful of parties and dinners we’d attended together. Most of the time, the esteemed host would have invited Wolford because of his title and not necessarily for his charm. As you can imagine, he was always an incorrigible flirt, which seldom earned him favor. And many held his excessive wealth against him. He was known for being spoiled, his focus on buying whatever object he wanted.

  “Yet since the evening of Strandfellow’s soiree, I’ve noticed a marked alteration in him. I daresay, he is almost noble in his bearing and no longer thinking of his own pursuits.”

  Hmm . . . yes. He was quite gallant this morning, Adeline mused pleasantly.

  “Perhaps it is the result of the attack upon him.” She noted the keen brightness in Juliet’s gaze that reminded her of Mother’s knowing look. Not wanting a blush to give her away further, she patted her cheeks with the handkerchief. “Though, since I have not known him long, it is a mere speculation.”

  “That is the stranger thing still. The pair of you seem . . . familiar, though not in a scandalous sense. More so like two people who have been acquainted for many years. After all, he seemed to know that you would not be able to resist a race this morning.”

  Was that what this was about? Adeline breathed in relief. “I might have mentioned such a desire. When he first awoke, his head was bandaged, his eyes covered, and I felt as if I could not leave him alone. So I talked with him, nattering on and on. I’m sure he was eager to be free of the sound of my voice.”

  “Ah. So that is how he knew about your ribbon trick.”

  Adeline nodded. The truth was, he knew a good deal more about her than anyone else. She’d told him her deepest secret. He knew her regrets. He knew her fears. And never once had he looked at her as if she deserved his pity.

  Instead, he was understanding, and he shared his thoughts with her too. He didn’t choose his words carefully, guarding her or coddling her. Because of this, they were connected, bonded. And to her it went deeper than a mere friendship ever could.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After his race through the rain, Liam returned to Wolford House, feeling oddly invigorated at such an early hour. He’d spent years indulging in the pleasures of the night; he rarely awoke before noon most days. Now an entire day stretched before him, and he was eager to make the most of it.

  His coterie would certainly laugh at him, if they were awake to witness the sight of him bounding up the stairs two at a time. Most of them were only now thinking of their own beds in matters of sleeping and asking their valets to dismiss whichever compan
ions they’d brought home for the evening’s entertainment.

  Liam had had years of similar experiences—endless hours of pleasure, a sumptuous buffet of delights, women in various states of undress frolicking before him, over him, under him. He’d been content with his life, as one would be with a buffet laden with rich delicacies. Something different to dine upon each day, and very unlike the porridge he’d eaten two days in a row at Boswick’s.

  He thought of his own breakfast of ham and poached eggs drenched in buttery sauce that morning, how it had pooled on his plate and hadn’t satisfied him for long. He felt his stomach rumble. Perhaps there was something to be said for a bowl of porridge. His palate missed the simplicity of it, the warmth that had lingered with him afterward.

  And even though Liam knew that his desire for porridge had more to do with Adeline than his palate preferences, he instructed the kitchen to bring him porridge the following morning. And he would have porridge every single day until he grew tired of it. The only thing was, he didn’t think he would.

  Liam closed his chamber door. Even now, just thinking about her feeding him porridge that first morning, he was inexplicably aroused.

  I want to be wet through . . . Damn. Those words were killing him too. In fact, everything she’d said played over and over in his mind, eliciting desires that he knew better than to entertain.

  But who was he kidding? Desire was in his makeup. In the marrow of his bones. He lived for pleasure in all he saw, smelled, touched, and tasted. And presently, he had a craving for Adeline’s face, the scent of her skin, the feel of his mouth on her flesh. He would lick porridge from her body and Boswickshire honey from her navel . . .

  He groaned. This was not the thought to have while stripping out of his wet clothes. He was half tempted to take himself in hand—something he hadn’t done since he was a lad. He hadn’t needed to. There were always women aplenty seeking pleasure. Likely, he could call upon any number of them, even at this hour, to slake his lust. Yet the only one he wanted right now, the only one in this fantasy, was the one he could not have.

  And with that thought, his lust turned to frustration.

  As he donned dry clothes, his mood darkened. He felt as if he were under the spell of Aphrodite’s girdle—unable to control this desire.

  And as he was silently cursing Aphrodite, his thoughts suddenly veered to his collection. Since this was a safer line of thought, he trained his focus upon it, in order to keep from going mad.

  The day before his attack, he’d left Rendell in charge of sending the Aphrodite crates to the Royal Society, but he hadn’t bothered to make sure that they’d arrived safely and ready for display at the symposium. And with the burglary happening within days of the supposed move, he needed to know.

  Striding out of his bedchamber and downstairs, he sought out Rendell. He found his steward in the library, using the room as his office since the one below stairs was likely filled with various bric-a-brac in need of accounting.

  “It just occurred to me that both heads of Aphrodite are missing from the ballroom. Do you have that on your list of items you are cross-referencing for Hollycott?”

  Rendell looked into the ledger, turning a few pages. “Accounted for, my lord. The forgery was crated and sent to the Royal Society two days prior to the robbery.” He turned to another page and then pointed to a mark. “It appears that the original is listed amongst the crates sent to Sudgrave Terrace, my lord. My apologies, my lord. I shall see to it that both are sent to the Society immediately, my lord.”

  The original had been there all this time? Considering how much Adeline had enjoyed viewing that vase, he saw this as an opportunity instead of Rendell’s failing. “Actually, I have a mind to study it more closely. Leave it at Sudgrave Terrace for the time being. I’ll have it sent before the symposium.”

  Yet even as he spoke, Liam knew the last thing he needed was an excuse to see Adeline.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  In addition, Liam needed to leave the room before his steward my lorded him to death, but first he had to ask, “Any correspondence?”

  “On your desk, my lord. I placed two correspondences from your lordship’s most respected archeologists. A new collection of Chinese scrolls has arrived. And more Roman artifacts have been discovered at Lord Caulfield’s country estate. They arrived at his townhouse yesterday, and he extends the courtesy of first viewing to you.”

  “Very good, Rendell.” A pleasant distraction was exactly what he needed. Taking a rather elegant correspondence off his desk, he grabbed an umbrella and walked a few doors down.

  “My, my, Wolford. You must be eager to see the latest additions to my collection,” Caulfield said as Liam was escorted to the drawing room. Most people would expect an exquisitely furnished room, but here, long straw-packed crates filled the space, and tucked inside, a treasure trove of artifacts awaited.

  Liam felt perfectly at home.

  “I appreciate the invitation.” Liam gripped Caulfield’s hand.

  When Caulfield nodded, fine particles of orange-colored dust sifted down from the hank of snow-white hair on his forehead and landed on the slight paunch beneath his gray waistcoat. “I thought the embossed invitation was a nice touch.”

  It had been a jest, Liam knew, because there weren’t many days during the week when he did not drop by. Until recently. They’d known each other for years, a friendship born out of mutual appreciation and similarities in their natures. Though Caulfield was thirty years Liam’s senior, they enjoyed a comparable lifestyle of indulgence. In Liam’s opinion, Caulfield was confirmation that a man could have everything he wanted.

  Taking in the collection at a glance, he focused on the disc resting in plain sight. “You’ve unearthed a pewter plate, I see.”

  Unlike some of the larger items that some men collected, Caulfield preferred the smaller, more intimate pieces that depicted the daily lives of the people who lived during that time. As for Liam, he enjoyed all of it.

  “A dozen or more. My original estimation, that the previous tenants on my land were poor and few, is now changing.” Caulfield went back to studying the piece, not out of disrespect for his company, but because he was absorbed and comfortable with a fellow collector.

  Liam made himself comfortable, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over a crate. He passed up the pewter plates in favor of the pottery, picking up a vase here and a bowl there, murmuring various observations about each piece, and noting the figural designs carved into the terra cotta. “I’d have to agree. Evidence suggests that this family was quite prosperous.”

  They spoke at length about the new digging sight on Caulfield’s property and the unearthed boundary markers that he intended to keep in place. Both of them moved down the rows, finding new treasures.

  Liam wasn’t even paying attention to how much time had passed until his body began to stiffen. His neck was sore, and a dull ache pinched his side. Most of his wounds were healing, and he was feeling stronger, but he’d done more today than he had in a week. Tomorrow he would think about sending for his sportsman.

  “That vessel is not in ideal shape,” Caulfield said about the broken jar Liam was holding gingerly. “However, I noticed the markings around the rim that suggested it was for honey. I thought perhaps it would be of some interest. There is even some sort of residue inside.”

  Liam drew a lamp closer and saw the marking for himself and felt a laugh rise up. Honey. He imagined Boswick would enjoy this find. In fact . . . “I have a friend who might be interested in this jar. What would you take for it?”

  Caulfield was never one to take advantage of Liam’s wealth and quoted a fair price.

  “Done.” Liam handed the jar to a footman before moving on to the final crate.

  Caulfield joined him, pointing out various pottery and even wooden artifacts that had petrified to resemble marble.

  “And now I will test the scholar,” Caulfield said and handed Liam a piece of terra cotta. “What do you thi
nk this is?”

  Liam studied it. The object was the size of his palm, roundish, and somewhat misshapen. There were still lingering traces of earth compacted into the creases that surrounded it. What he couldn’t figure out was the small cone-shaped protrusion. “While the object is too irregular to be a ball, it appears to be a toy of sorts?”

  “Yes. It is a rattle. In fact, there are two.” Caulfield handed him one for his other hand, this one less round, but more in the shape of a dog or cat, the pointed ears giving it away. The animal tinkled faintly as it shifted.

  Liam was oddly entranced by these two small objects. He did not remember finding such items like this in the attic crates at Arborcrest. Infant toys. Likely he’d once had them. He recalled a rocking horse in the nursery, a ball and cup, a stick and hoop, but they had not been preserved as Father’s collection had been.

  He thought of Adeline—though without cause, other than the fact that she might enjoy studying these small objects. And he would enjoy testing her to see if she made the discovery of what they were on her own. Then he thought of his cousin and his bride. What better gift for the new addition to the family than an artifact that once, long ago, another tiny hand had held?

  Liam felt pleased by this. “Name your price, Caulfield.”

  “I’m not certain I want to sell that, Wolford. Though you may not have heard, as the news is so recent, but I am going to be married. This June, as a matter of fact, to Miss Poppy Tremaine.” He puffed out his chest and grinned.

  “Married?” Liam was stunned for a moment but wasn’t sure why. “Well, congratulations. At long last, you won’t have to roam these halls alone.”

  Caulfield wiped his dusty hands over his waistcoat. “You forget, young Wolford. Of the two of us, I’ve never been the one to complain about an empty house. I love my solitude.” He sighed. “I shall miss it, I’m sure.”