This Earl Is on Fire

by Vivienne Lorret

  In these past few days, however, his appendage hadn’t been displaying any sort of generosity. Behind the fall of his trousers, his flesh remained unmoved. Each time he’d made an attempt, his headache returned, splitting though his skull, turning his vision hazy, his mind dizzy, forcing him to abandon his entertainments for home.

  The pain had become so terrible that he’d engaged his physician. After much prodding and poking, Fortier had prescribed a powder for his headaches. But even that did not work for long.

  Liam was having trouble eating, concentrating on anything. He’d become a prisoner in his own bleeding skull, and it had all begun the moment he’d decided to avoid Sudgrave Terrace until the end of the Season, when the Pimms would be gone.

  It was nothing more than a coincidence, he was sure. While his bruises had disappeared, obviously his brain had more healing to do. Though the thought had crossed his mind that it was his current location. That perhaps the servants were using a different liniment for the wood. Therefore, he moved from Wolford House to Brook Street, hoping to remove himself from the cause.

  Unfortunately, that hadn’t worked. His skull ached. And when his butler informed him that Thayne had arrived just now, Liam was tempted to send him away. Yet hoping a distraction could help, he allowed the intrusion.

  A minute later, Thayne strode into the map room where Liam was studying the honey crock he intended to give Boswick as a parting gift.

  “I had the devil of a time tracking you down. I don’t even know if your servants know where you are staying.”

  “I must have forgotten to beg my housekeeper for permission to leave the house,” Liam mocked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a moment to rest his eyes. Then, oddly enough, he caught a trace of familiar scent, and his headache dissipated somewhat. Curious, his eyes snapped open. “What do you have there?”

  Thayne held a handkerchief, the corner displaying a W in green thread. “I went by Sudgrave Terrace to find you. Wound up running into Boswick instead. He welcomed me to breakfast, but when I explained I couldn’t stay, he sent me on my way with one of his cook’s muffins drizzled in Boswickshire honey. Then before I left, Miss Pimm obliged me to return this. Forgive me, it seems as though I’ve left a drop of honey behind.”

  Liam snatched the handkerchief out of Thayne’s grasp. “You tasted the honey.”

  It was meant to be a question, but a sudden rise of anger made the words clipped. Harsh.

  Thayne didn’t seem to notice. “Everything Boswick claimed is true. I tell you it is the finest honey I have ever eaten. He offered to send me a jar when he returns, and I couldn’t find a single reason to refuse him.”

  Liam could think of a reason. How about the fact that Thayne had no right to taste that honey! But that was absurd, the ranting of an insane man, a jealous man. And Liam had no reason to be jealous—or want to murder Thayne—over a taste of honey.

  For that matter, Liam wasn’t even sure this was his handkerchief, as his weren’t monogrammed. But then he remembered that one morning and their race in the rain, and leaving one with Adeline.

  She must have embroidered it. Brushing his thumb over the W, he imagined her carefully sewing each stitch, holding the linen in her soft hands . . . plotting for this very moment, knowing that Liam would be forced to think of her when he saw this handkerchief.

  He curled his fingers around it, his hand forming a fist. Either he was going mad, or this was a ploy of hers, wanting him to think of her.

  He was half tempted to ask Aunt Edith to remove her family’s name from the guest list. Did it even matter that her family saved his life when he didn’t even recognize himself any longer? When he felt as if he didn’t belong in his own world, no longer enjoying his usual pursuits?

  “Are you unwell, Wolford?” Thayne asked. “You seem . . . troubled.”

  “Bleeding headache,” Liam snapped, then relaxed his glower. It wasn’t Thayne’s fault that he’d become a lunatic, after all.

  “Then perhaps my news will aid in your recovery,” Thayne continued. “All is not lost despite your recent . . . misdeeds. You are still a favorite. Your name tops the list of the column in the Standard, instead of buried like a whisper at the bottom. Once you make an appearance at your aunt’s party, I may still win the wager.”

  Liam glared at his friend, incredulous. “Do you honestly believe I care about winning your wager or even who is named the Original?”

  “No. I never once thought you cared. Do you think it has escaped my notice that you don’t seem to care about anyone? Or even bothered to notice the hell I’ve been in these past months?” Thayne glared back, his jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth.

  “Of course I noticed,” Liam fired back. Then deciding that the root of all his madness might very well be Thayne’s fault, he purposely goaded him into an argument. “Especially the way that Juliet has you so twisted inside out that you would turn your back on a friend, aiming to plot against him by naming him in a wager.”

  If it weren’t for the damnable wager, then Thayne might never have pushed so hard to see Liam become respectable. Then the ton would never have considered him a candidate for the Original. And Liam would never have given a moment’s thought to how his reputation might look to a certain debutante.

  “Friend?” Thayne sneered. “All you care about is your collection. Tell me, why do you buy all of these artifacts?”

  “Perhaps I simply abhor an empty house.” Liam also used the collection to connect with his father’s memory, but he’d be damned if he would share that personal detail with Thayne.

  “And yet you keep purchasing more houses to fill.” Thayne laughed but with more censure than amusement. “Have you ever thought, perhaps, that you might rather fill your houses with a family instead?”

  Reflexively, Liam’s fist tightened on the handkerchief. He looked down at it, a ready denial on his lips.

  Then Thayne spoke again. “I already told you part of the reason why I named you for this wager. But the truth is, I only did it because I wanted you to show yourself. The real you that no one has seen for years.”

  Liam jerked up his chin. “What do you mean? This is who I am!”

  “Not always.” Thayne held his gaze. “Of course, you’ve always had a bit of the devil’s mischief, but you were also noble and kind. And when you made a vow, you held fast to it. No matter what. That’s what worries me—your vow not to marry until you are sixty. It isn’t a favorable decision. You should think about your life and what you truly want.”

  Liam’s back teeth locked. “I live exactly the way I choose.”

  “Behind a barrier that you’ve erected with your collection?” Thayne gestured to the pair of Oriental vases flanking the doorway.

  Liam scoffed. While he may have been adding to his collection a great deal of late, that didn’t mean he was building a barrier. Barriers were built by men who were afraid of being set upon or attacked.

  “I was there when this obsession of yours began. Do you remember?” Thayne’s dark brows rose. “We were seventeen and touring the Continent in order to put distance between you and that conniving debutante who’d tried to trap you into marriage.”

  Liam stared at Thayne, his memory flooding back to that trip and the Turkish dagger that he’d purchased. And up until recently, that dagger had hung in a glass case above his mantel.

  “And you know something else? I think part of you wanted to marry her.”

  “No. You are quite mistaken,” Liam said quickly. Perhaps there had been a time when the idea had appealed to him, but that ended when he discovered the truth. She had only pretended to be his friend, to like him, to love him. Her parents had done the same, often calling on him, bestowing pretty invitations to dinner, to the park, and even to stay with them during the holidays. At the time, Liam had been too naïve, too lonely, and too eager to be part of a family to know what their true designs were.

  “Of course, I am,” Thayne mocked. He walked toward the door, his own
glower firmly in place. “Instead of a family, however, you started putting together a vast collection. Bravo! Now, you never need to get close to any new persons in your life—a young woman and her amiable parents come to mind—because you have all of this. Your true family. Hundreds, if not thousands of artifacts and statues . . . My, my, what a legacy you will leave.”

  Thayne knew nothing. The objects in this room weren’t his family. If Liam wanted to have a real family then he would damn well have one, and no one would be able to stop him.

  “You’re absolutely wrong! Do you know that, Thayne?” Liam shouted as his friend exited the room.

  Thayne had the audacity to laugh. “Then prove it!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was the night of the Vale ball.

  Standing in the receiving line, Adeline steeled herself for her first encounter with Liam in a week. So far, after greeting Ivy and Vale, she was doing admirably well. All she had to do was remember how to breathe.

  While she stood in front of the dowager duchess, her parents were ahead of her, already exchanging a greeting with Liam and the guests of honor.

  Adeline tried not to listen to Liam’s voice or let her gaze stray even a single inch from her hostess’s smiling face. Instead, she focused on her curtsy, keeping her corrective half boot flat on the marble floor.

  “My dear Miss Pimm, you look positively radiant this evening in that pale coral gown. And your hair done up in a twist is quite flattering.”

  Adeline was just about to thank her when the dowager duchess tapped her nephew on the arm and asked, “Wouldn’t you agree, Liam?”

  But Adeline had come prepared for her encounter. She brought a fan of her own, and summarily dropped it on the marble floor. Then she accidentally kicked it, hard enough so that it slid between two potted topiaries behind him.

  “Oh, do forgive me,” she called out the moment Liam turned around to fetch it. Then she made direct eye contact with the next in line, assuming that Liam’s uncle would introduce himself. Thankfully, she was right.

  “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Miss Pimm, and the kindness you’ve shown my nephew,” Albert Desmond said after their introduction.

  “My parents and I believe we offered nothing more than anyone else would have done.”

  “Oh, how I wish that were true.” His lips curled up at each end like his mustachio, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “It is a shame that my daughter was not well enough to attend the ball. I’m certain she would have enjoyed meeting you. Though perhaps some other time in the near future?”

  “I’m afraid, sir, that we will be leaving London day after next.” As she spoke, her gaze drifted to Liam.

  Holding her fan and walking toward them, his steps suddenly halted and his brow furrowed, but he made no comment.

  Adeline returned her attention to Mr. Desmond. “Please know that you and your daughter are more than welcome to our home in Boswickshire whenever your travels take you north of here.”

  And because the line of guests behind them were crowding closer, she did not wait for her fan. Instead, she took her father’s arm and descended into the ballroom. This time, she did not take special care to ensure that her corrective half boot was concealed by the hem of her gown. By now, all of London—with the help of Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury—knew about her limb. But Adeline walked with her head high and refused to let it bother her a moment longer.

  This would be her last London adventure, and Adeline was determined to enjoy herself. So, as the evening progressed, she didn’t look for Liam in the crowd at all. Well, hardly ever. Perhaps once—every five minutes or so, but no more than that.

  Yet as she walked beside Mother after fetching a glass of punch, she saw Liam standing with her father near the open terrace doors. Trepidation slowed her steps.

  It was almost time for the gong to ring for supper. Was Liam asking for permission to escort her to the dining room? She sincerely hoped not.

  Her night was going along perfectly without him. Neither Miss Leeds nor Miss Ashbury had been invited. She’d already danced two country dances—one with Lord Ellery and one with her host, the Duke of Vale. And though she would never admit it, her foot was cramping. Which made it all the better that she’d taken Juliet’s advice and filled her card for all the other dances.

  When she finally reached the terrace doors, whatever conversation Liam had been having with Father abruptly stopped.

  Liam greeted Mother and then bowed to Adeline, his hand extended. “Miss Pimm, would you do me the honor of this next dance?”

  The musicians in the gallery above were already playing the first strains of the dinner waltz. Couples paired off on the ballroom floor, each of them twirling gracefully.

  And Adeline went cold, feeling as if Liam were mocking her. He knew she did not know how. She’d confessed as much to him.

  “Thank you. No.” Then she gave her father a pained look, feeling betrayed by him as well.

  Turning away, she decided to adjourn to the retiring room. Liam stopped her, however, putting a hand beneath her elbow. She tried to shrug him off, but he was more insistent than she expected. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents engaged in a quiet conversation, Mother frowning, Father shaking his head. Any moment now, all eyes would be upon their group. Therefore, to avoid a scene, she allowed Liam to escort her through the doors.

  The air was brisk, and there were no stars or moon to guide them. The only light came from the ballroom, spilling over the wet terrace stones.

  The instant he released his hold on her, she crossed her arms, warding off the chill she felt inside and out. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you could not have said at any time during this past week?”

  “I did not ask you for a conversation. I asked you for a waltz,” he said, his teeth clenched so hard that a muscle twitched over his lean jaw. He did not look pleased or even apologetic. Instead, those green eyes flashed in anger. “And the only reason I brought you out to the terrace is because I intend to hold you scandalously close, with your feet upon mine. Though with your parents nearby, your reputation is secure.”

  She refused to budge. “I decline your invitation.”

  He taunted her with a smirk and lowered his voice. “Come now, you know we’ve been this close before. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Have I forgot—” Her hands curled in to fists and she untangled her arms, but only so that she could pummel him if the opportunity arose. “According to the Standard, it is you who has forgotten.”

  “There is no understanding between us, Adeline.”

  “Nor will there be in the foreseeable future. You are free to do whatever you choose.”

  “Correct. And this moment, I choose to waltz with you. Now cease this nonsense and step into my arms where you belong. For the dance,” he amended with a glower.

  Then he pulled her close beside him—hip to hip, leaving no space between them—without giving her the chance to refuse him again. Settling his hand against her back, he waited for her to do the same to him.

  She did. But she hated that it felt so good to be in his arms, even now.

  “We are both quite cross. I do not know why I am indulging you.”

  “Because you cannot refuse an adventure.”

  “True. That is all this is, after all,” she said, embarrassed when her voice broke, and she felt a telltale stinging at the corners of her eyes. “Nothing more.”

  “Blink those tears away before you force me to kiss you,” he commanded softly. His green gaze hard.

  Knowing that she was only torturing herself, she blinked several times, just wanting to end this once and for all. Like the dancers inside, she lifted her arm, posing it with her hand extended in an arc above her head. Then he took that hand, and in that same moment, began their promenade.

  Holding her gaze, he made a slow circle, each step making her aware of the warmth of his body and his hold on her. Once completed, he pulled her closer, s
hifting so they faced each other, stomach to stomach.

  “Put your feet on mine,” he ordered, his voice dropping. He settled both of his hands at the small of her back, making it impossible to resist. “And now fold your arms behind you.”

  The action caused her breasts to jut forward, pressing against his chest. “Are you certain this is—”

  He didn’t give her time to finish her question or even time to prepare herself for what came next. Instead, he swept her into a turn. One after another.

  Adeline gasped, amazed that this was happening. She felt every bit of his strength, the thick muscles of his thighs, the shift of his abdomen, the security of his hands. He would not let her falter. She should have known better all along.

  This was not a dance of humiliation or even of pity. He truly was giving her a last London adventure.

  It was over all too soon. There was only time enough for a dozen turns, perhaps fewer. When the music ended, he set her on her feet and stepped apart from her. And she desperately wanted to do it all over again.

  “I love you for the dance,” she said on an exhale. She didn’t know why she was breathing so heavily. After all, she hadn’t done any of the work.

  It took a moment before her own words filtered into her brain. But in that time she felt her lungs seize, her eyelids widen, and her mouth open.

  And other than the rapid rise and fall of his chest, Liam went completely, utterly still.

  “Oh! I meant to say ‘thank you for the dance.’ Thank you,” she repeated stupidly. She wished he would say something to stop this torrent of embarrassment. “Because no one says ‘I love you for the dance,’ even if you’re very fond of dancing. That doesn’t even make sense. For if it did, then everyone would be—”