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AS AN EARL DESIRES
By
Lorraine Heath
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
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TO WED FOR DUTY?
The seventh Earl of Sachse has only recently gained the title, but he already knows his duty: to wed one of the debutantes thrust under his nose at every turn. But he is interested in one woman only: coolly beautiful, maddeningly remote Camilla. Known throughout London as a force to be reckoned with, she has made it clear it is her pleasure to tutor the dashing earl in the ways of society, even offering to find him the perfect bride.
TO WED FOR LOVE?
But he is determined that it is Camilla who will share his marriage bed. He tantalizes her with his caresses and soothes her with his kisses. But why does she resist him so, when she obviously yearns to surrender to his single-minded pursuit? Then, Camilla's hidden past comes to light, bearing consequences neither ever expected. Soon, he will discover the secret that haunts her lovely eyes and make a decision that will change their lives forever.
"LORRAINE HEATH IS AN INCREDIBLE TALENT."
Katherine Sutcliffe
* * *
By Lorraine Heath
As an Earl Desires
An Invitation to Seduction
Love With a Scandalous Lord
To Marry an Heiress
The Outlaw and the Lady
Never Marry a Cowboy
Never Love a Cowboy
A Rogue in Texas
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* * *
LORRAINE
HEATH
As An Earl Desires
AVON BOOKS
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AVON BOOKS
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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New York, New York 10022-5299
Copyright © 2005 by Jan Nowasky
ISBN: 0-06-052947-4
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First Avon Books paperback printing: April
Avon Trademark Reg. U.S. Pat. Off. and in Other Countries, Marca
Registrada, Hecho en U.S.A.
HarperCollins® is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers
Inc.
Printed in the U.S.A.
* * *
For my mom,
my dear friend,
my biggest fan
I hope heaven is filled with video poker machines and you're hitting the royal flush every time, but knowing you, you're still betting way too conservatively. I had so much fun whenever I was with you. Thank you, Mom, for the smiles, the laughter, the memories.
All my love
Always
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Chapter 1
London
1879
"Honestly, Sachse, I don't know how you expect to find a suitable wife if you refuse to be fitted for new clothing."
Archibald Warner, the seventh Earl of Sachse, watched as Camilla Warner, his predecessor's widow, paced before him, clearly agitated, wringing her delicate hands, furrowing her youthful brow. While the previous earl had been older than any man Arch had ever known—not that he'd ever met the fellow, and based upon what he'd learned so far he was rather glad that he hadn't—his widow was two years Arch's junior. And the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
Today she wore a fashionable dress of the palest pink silk, which accentuated her trim figure and complemented her alabaster skin. She was quite at home in his residence—it had been part of her husband's holdings—and had removed her decorative hat upon entering his library. The sunlight pouring through the windows glinted off her upswept brown hair, touching upon it and causing it to glisten, making it appear that many of the strands had been spun from gold.
All Season, she'd been an exemplary hostess, accompanying him on most of his outings, introducing him to this duke and that earl, this marquess, that viscount. She knew the history of every aristocratic family and details about their lives that some might prefer she didn't know. Without looking in Debrett's, she could advise on the proper hierarchy and where one should be seated based on rank so as not to give offense to anyone else at the table.
He was truly amazed that she'd mastered all the etiquette and protocol, which he tended to bumble. He couldn't have been more grateful for her assistance… usually.
This afternoon being a rare exception.
She'd arrived at his residence only moments ago and before he could even offer a proper greeting, she promptly began to scold him because he had no desire to be fitted with new clothing. Rather he preferred to sit in his library—the only advantage he'd found so far to being the earl was the abundance of books at his disposal—and finish reading the novel he'd begun yesterday. He often wondered if he should advise Camilla when she went off on one of her tirades that he'd served for a time in Her Majesty's army and was quite skilled with a rifle.
"Sachse, have you listened to a single word I've spoken?"
He looked into her earnest brown eyes. She cared so much about things for which he cared nothing. And yet the intensity with which she cared intrigued him.
"Perhaps I should simply marry you; then I would not have to be concerned with a new wardrobe." Or a good many other things come to think of it. The notion did have some merit.
Although judging by the exaggerated rolling of her eyes, she disagreed. "You cannot marry me. I am barren. You must marry a woman who can provide you with an heir."
She spoke with practicality, but as always, he heard her hesitation and her slight quiver over the word barren. She tried so hard to appear unfeeling, but he'd long ago deduced that it was simply a well rehearsed act. Much of her behavior was a performance, which more often than not irritated him because she did not trust him enough to reveal her true self.
Whatever had the old earl done to make her think that she was naught but an actress upon his stage?
"Therefore," she continued, "you must see your tailor when he arrives this afternoon and not find yet another excuse to leave the house before he gets here."
"I have very little interest in securing a woman who places such high regard on the cut of my jacket."
"It is not your jacket that will impress her, but rather what it tells her about you."
"Which would be what exactly?"
"You care not only about the la
test fashions, but you have the means to purchase them. You are modern. You take great pride in your appearance. You will make an excellent husband."
"A woman can determine all that from a bit of clothing?" he asked, incredulously.
"One should never underestimate how loudly one's attire speaks to the world. Of course, in addition I will be touting the strength of your character, and it will make my calculated whisperings more believable if you are well turned out."
He set his book aside and rose to his full height. She took a step back. She always did. Kept her distance when he would like nothing more than to close the space separating them—the physical as well as the emotional. She intrigued him because she appeared to live within a tower of her own building, much as Rapunzel, and he wondered if he removed the pins from her hair if the golden brown tresses would fall to the ground.
"Why do you care so much that I marry?" he asked.
"I care that you have an heir, that you do not lose all that you've gained from the old Sachse—may he rest in hell."
Arch chuckled at the answer, which he suspected only touched upon the truth. She gained nothing if he gained an heir, and he'd learned that she never took an interest in anything that offered her no gain. If she wished to pretend her motives were as she'd indicated, he'd allow it for now. In time, though, he would discern her true reasons.
"Camilla, I will not lose any of this until I die, at which point, I will not care what happens to any of it."
She turned away from him, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, causing a shiver to race along his spine. He didn't know how she managed so effectively to show her irritation with him, yet she did.
"How can you not appreciate all that you've gained?" she asked.
"I do appreciate it."
She spun around. "You do not. You mock it." She lowered her gaze. "And in so doing, you mock me."
He longed to console her with a touch, but he'd learned early on that she was not a woman who relished his touch, so he clutched his hands behind his back. "I would never dream to mock you, Camilla. I am merely uncomfortable with that which I've gained through accident of birth—or in my case through lack of other significant births."
Although his bloodline could be traced back to the third brother of the second Earl of Sachse, he was here only because so few males had been born between then and now, and those who had been born had subsequently suffered through the misfortune of death.
She lifted her gaze to his. "There are those who scheme, plot, and murder to gain what you have."
"A life of leisure."
"The life of a gentleman, an aristocrat, an earl."
He bowed his head slightly, conceding to her point. "I should be more appreciative."
"Indeed you should."
He released a weary sigh, determined to battle a bit longer for his right not to purchase more clothing. "I do not see the urgency in acquiring a new wardrobe when the Season is so near to being over."
"Have you hunting clothes?" she asked.
"No."
"What will you wear when you hunt?"
"I had not planned to hunt."
"Then how can you be an exemplary host when you entertain at the country estate?"
"I didn't realize that I would be entertaining."
She closed her eyes, as though losing patience with a dull-witted child. He was sorely temped to cross the distance separating them, take her in his arms, and demonstrate to her that he in no way resembled a child but was a man to be reckoned with.
But when she opened her eyes and pinned him with her hard-edged glare, he was grateful he'd not moved a muscle. Not that she intimidated him, but he was unaccustomed to dealing with a woman's wrath. He had a propensity for keeping the women of his acquaintance jovial and in the most accommodating of moods. With Camilla, he always felt a bit off-balance.
"Of course, we shall entertain. I have already issued several informal invitations, and once we are settled into the country estate, I'll formalize them. We shan't invite many people, as you are still new to your position, but we shall use the months between this Season and next to secure your place among those with influence."
"And find me a wife."
"To determine possibilities. People are more relaxed in the country."
"Will people not question you're living in the same house with a bachelor?"
"I'm a widow. I require no chaperone. Besides, I'll have my secretary with me to serve as my companion. Sachse Hall is large enough that you shall be in one wing and I in the other."
"Is that how it was with you and my predecessor?" he asked quietly, knowing it was none of his business but unable to resist inquiring and praying that it had indeed been that way. "You in one wing, he in the other?"
She lowered her golden lashes, and he watched as a faint blush crept up her ivory throat and onto her pale cheeks. He was accustomed to country lasses of hardier stock. She always seemed so frail until she spoke.
"He was my husband. I did as he asked."
"And what did he ask of you?"
She snapped up her chin, impaling him with her eyes. It always amazed him how quickly she could go from ice to fire. "That is none of your concern."
Of course it wasn't, but still he found himself brimming with curiosity. Before he could issue an appropriate apology for his inappropriate inquiry, the door opened quietly, and the butler stepped into the room. Arch still found having all the servants about a bit unnerving.
In spite of their discretion and quietness, he was never able to feel as though he'd obtained complete solitude. He suspected he was an inconvenience to them as well. Conversations and actions stopped when he appeared, which left him with an incredible need to apologize for disturbing them—which Camilla had warned him was absolutely unheard of. One did not apologize to one's servants.
"Yes, Gibson?" Arch asked.
"My lord, you have a visitor." The butler presented a card on a silver tray.
Arch gave it a cursory glance before nodding. "Send him in, Gibson."
As soon as Gibson had left the room, Camilla took a step forward. "Who is it?"
"Mr. Spellman."
"The solicitor? Whatever does he want?"
She looked toward the door as though she expected Dr. Frankenstein's monster to waddle in. He'd read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein to her only last week. He'd read a good many books to her since he'd met her. As much as she seemed to take delight in his reading to her, he was disappointed he never could convince her to return the favor.
Although he supposed he shouldn't be. Camilla preferred to be waited on rather than to be the one doing the waiting. One of her more irritable charms.
"He has come to discuss finances," Arch told her. Mr. Spellman had sent word the day before that he needed a moment of the earl's time.
"Whatever is wrong with your finances?"
"As far as I know, nothing."
She rushed over to him, brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders, straightened the lapels of his jacket, which needed no straightening, and patted his shoulders. "Remember, you are in command of your affairs. Your money is yours to spend as you will, and expenses are incurred that a common solicitor cannot possibly understand."
He grabbed her wrists, stilling her fluttering hands. An expression of fear crossed her features, which she quickly masked, and he decided to ignore. Whether she realized it or not, in whatever manner the old Sachse had treated her was indeed Arch's business, because he couldn't undo what he didn't fully comprehend.
"What expenses?" he asked.
"Archie, you're hurting me."
He didn't fathom how he could be, but the fact that she'd slipped into an informal address alerted him that she was truly upset. He released his hold on her, not at all surprised that she quickly stepped beyond his reach.
She began to adjust her own clothing, and he knew she would not answer his inquiry regarding expenses she seemed to know about that he didn't. The woman was a continual mystery. Fort
unately, he enjoyed the challenge of solving a good mystery.
A sound at the doorway caught his attention. Carrying a well-worn leather satchel, Lawrence Spellman walked into the room. "My lord."
"Mr. Spellman."
Spellman bowed his head toward Camilla. "Countess, I did not expect you to be here."
She angled her chin. "I spend a good deal of time with the earl. How else can I educate him regarding his responsibilities?"
"Quite commendable, but I assure you that I am up to the task of telling him all he needs to know."
"Then you were aware that Lady Jane Myerson was seen in public without gloves?"
Arch pressed his lips together to keep himself from smiling—not only because Camilla considered bare hands scandalous, but because Spellman seemed at a loss for words, so the first round of their constant battling would go to Camilla.
Spellman angled his head like that of a thoughtful dog. "I was not aware of that fact, but it is hardly condemning behavior."
"Of course it is. A true lady doesn't display bare hands in public except when she is eating or playing the piano for an audience. Lady Jane Myerson has let it be known that she has an interest in the earl. If not for me, he might make the mistake of actually considering her as a suitable wife when she is anything but."
Spellman released a sigh as though ready to accept that victory wouldn't be his today. "Then the earl is fortunate to have you to guide him."
"He is indeed."
"Mr. Spellman, I believe you came here to discuss my finances, not my social life." Arch had no recollection of Lady Jane Myerson. Perhaps he'd seek her out simply to irritate Camilla.
"Yes, my lord. However, I must restate that I do not believe it is appropriate to have the countess present during our meeting."
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