"A commendable trait, which I admire. I'm not seeking gossip, but answers. I'm trying to understand why she felt that she needed to keep these good works from me."
Lillian licked her lips, swallowed.
"You'll find a bonus with your salary at the end of the month," he said.
"No payment would force me to betray her."
Betrayal? Good God. What all had happened in this household before it had come into his hands?
"Lillian, it's a simple question. All I'm asking is how often."
"Every month. She thinks that if she spreads the purchases out over the year, they won't be noticed." Tears welled in her eyes. "Please don't tell her that I told you, and please don't punish her for it."
"Punish her for it? Why ever would I punish her—"
"The old Sachse did. I'm sure of it. She'd never admit it, though. He was so very tight with his money. One Christmas she purchased dolls and cloaks for little girls. When he found out what she'd done… I don't know what he did, and she never said, but I do know that she moved most gingerly for almost a week."
It seemed once her mouth began working, Lillian didn't know how to stop it.
He slid his eyes closed, well imaging what the bastard had done. He'd beat her. He opened his eyes. "Thank you for the confidence, Lillian. I'll keep this between us."
She raised her chin a notch, rebellion in her eyes. "She still did it, though, bought the cloaks anyway, so the children would be warm, but she did it by putting aside the small amount of money that he gave her for different items. And when she could convince him that she needed a new cloak, she would have it made with several linings, claiming that she always got so cold. When it arrived, she'd remove them all and we'd sew smaller capes for children and piece the scraps together for blankets. It wasn't much, but it was something, and it always made us feel good at Christmas." Suddenly she looked immensely embarrassed. "I've revealed far more than you asked and more than I should have. She wouldn't want you to know all that."
"I know," he said quietly. "And I shan't let on that I do know."
"Thank you, my lord. May I go now?"
"Yes."
After she left, Arch walked to a window and looked out on the garden. He thought of the way she'd stiffened beside him when Spellman had questioned her purchases. Had she thought Arch would react as her husband had—or had she simply responded based on past experience?
Was it any wonder that she'd built a wall around herself?
She was familiar with skating, of course, having observed it on several occasions. Young people enjoyed the sport because it allowed them easily to rid themselves of the chaperones who were seldom able to keep up with the nimble youths. No one frowned upon the antics of the daring couples, because they were usually in sight of other skaters, although Camilla had heard of a few people being caught in fervent kisses. As she sat on the park bench moving her feet back and forth, testing the movement of the wheels beneath her shoes, she wasn't certain how anyone could engage in a kiss while wearing skates without falling flat on their bottoms.
"Ready?" Archie asked from his place on the bench beside her.
"You go first."
"I thought we would go together, arm in arm, providing each other with support."
"If you stumble along and go down, then so shall I."
"I shan't go down."
He sounded so cocky, so sure of himself—but without conceit. Had she made the same claim, she would have come across as arrogant, because she knew no other way to protect herself except to live behind her shield of snobbery. How did he manage to say what she would but without the chill? Perhaps it was because his smile was warm, his eyes inviting.
"I'm afraid that you will have to prove to me that you have the skill to remain upright."
He held out his hand, palm up. "Trust me, Camilla."
She dipped her gaze to his outstretched gloved palm. If only she could place her hand in his. She lifted her eyes to his, imploring him to understand that she was talking about more than the skating and fully cognizant of the fact that he was as well. "I can't."
"If he weren't already dead, I believe I'd kill him."
Before she could wrap her mind around the implication of his words and to whom he was referring, he shoved himself off the bench and rolled away from her. He faced her, and as though he'd accomplished some great miracle, he extended his arms. "There, you see? It's not so hard."
It did seem simple enough and had the possibility of being a bit of fun. She lifted herself off the bench, her feet rolled away, and she plopped back down. Not so easy.
"Have your feet tucked farther back behind the bench to give you better leverage as you're getting up," he suggested.
She shook her head. "I don't believe I can do this."
"That doesn't sound like the countess I know." He returned to her side as easy as he pleased and held out both hands. "Come on."
"Give me a demonstration of your skill."
"If we dally much longer, we won't be the only ones on the path. You need only find your balance, and the sport is quite simple."
"I need to see you traverse more than you have in order to have any confidence in your ability," she insisted.
"Very well."
He skated away from her, his hands clasped behind his back, his strides long and sure. Beautiful really. Elegant. But nothing like the beauty and elegance of a woman. He possessed a strength and power that radiated from his body, and she thought he did indeed have the ability to keep her upright.
He disappeared around the corner, hidden from her by hedges. Anxious to keep sight of him, she was halfway to her feet before the traitorous skates tried to take them in opposite directions, and she found herself plopping back on the bench, fairly rattling her teeth in the process. Then she heard the whir of the wheels, and Archie was headed back toward her, confidence in every stride, his smile beaming.
"It's fun, Camilla. You really must—eh, there! Watch out!"
She shrieked as a squirrel scampered across the path. Archie tried to avoid it. He lost his balance and took a tumble onto the side of the path.
"Oh, Archie!"
She was almost to him before she remembered wheels were beneath her soles rather than solid ground. As panic took hold, she began wind-milling her arms. Her legs went this way and that, as though each were controlled by separate minds. Before she realized it or could do anything to prevent it, she landed on top of him, his arms around her, holding her in place, cushioning her fall with his body.
And it was such a young, virile body. Not soft from overeating as her husband's had been. Not smelly from too much drink and tobacco.
He grinned up at her. "You see? It was jolly good fun."
"How can you smile?"
"How can you not?"
Then he did the most remarkable thing. He laughed. Deep and long. She felt the rumble of his chest against hers.
"You looked incredibly funny," he said.
"Me? You should have seen yourself. I thought your eyes were going to pop right out of your head." Then in spite of her best intentions not to do so, she remembered how he had looked, striving to find his balance. A bubble of laughter escaped her throat.
It was met by another bark of laughter from him. Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw him again, the comical expression of horror on his face, and the laughter rolled out of her, mingling with his. She'd never seen anything so humorous in all of her life.
Abruptly he went silent. She opened her eyes, saw the intensity with which he watched her, and her chuckles died away beneath the onslaught of his raw and exposed desire.
"You have such a lovely laugh," he said.
"Don't be—"
"No!" he growled, cradling her face between his hands. "Don't go away. The woman you are now, let her remain."
"She is a silly woman; she wouldn't be taken seriously."
He trailed his finger around her face. "Everything about you changed in that moment when you laughed. So young,
so carefree. I believe I could love a woman such as that."
"She would break your heart and hers as well. She cannot give you a son, and you cannot give her a dukedom."
"I could give her a kiss."
He lifted his head, and even though she knew she should pull back, she didn't. She remained as she was, sprawled over him, closing her eyes as his lips touched hers. So tenderly, so sweetly. How could he not understand that it was because she cared for him so much that she couldn't allow him past her barricades?
He drew back from the kiss and held her gaze. "That wasn't so bad now was it?"
She pressed her fingers against his lips. "You break my heart."
She offered him no chance to react, but shoved herself off him and reassembled her barriers. "How do you propose we get up?"
He rolled into a sitting position, his chest against her back, his breath wafting along the nape of her neck. "Stay with me a while longer, the woman you are now, until the end of the path."
"Promise you won't kiss me."
He pressed his warm mouth against her neck. "Promise."
The movement of his lips over her skin almost had her turning around and begging him to break that promise. Then he was gone, and she was aware of the sound of movements as he worked to get himself to his feet. She glanced over her shoulder and thought that she might never again view him as she had before this moment. He seemed to require no effort at all to push himself to a standing position.
He reached his hands down to her, and she looked up into his face. His hair had fallen over his brow, and he was in need of straightening, but she couldn't seem to find any impatience for his disheveled appearance.
"I'll make you fall again," she said.
"No, you won't. I'm stronger than I look, I'm braced and balanced."
She placed her hands in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He grinned. "You see? It's easier to stand when you allow another to help."
"I've grown accustomed to doing everything on my own."
"I know you have," he said. He slipped her arm around his. "I don't mind your leaning on me."
She couldn't remember a time when she'd leaned on anyone. She'd certainly never dared to look to her husband for support. She wasn't afraid of all men. She knew some men were kind and gentle. But she also realized that receiving that gentleness required a vulnerability that she wasn't willing to show, a step away from isolation that she wasn't willing to relinquish. She positioned herself so her shoulder was against his. "My stride is not as long as yours."
"Then I shall adjust my stride. I'm an accommodating fellow."
"I don't believe this is your first time to skate as you'd have me believe."
"No, it's not. I was amazed you rushed to my rescue. You were quite shocked to realize you were suddenly skating."
"Shocked? I was terrified."
"You hid it well."
"I always do, Archie."
"You needn't with me. I'd never ridicule you."
"I can't fathom why you give me so much attention. You're young, handsome, gentle, and kind. You could have any woman you wanted."
"Apparently I can't."
She felt the heat suffuse her face. Did he mean what she thought he did?
"I am yours until the end of the path," she told him, not certain why she felt compelled to do so. "Perhaps we'll discover the path has no end." She refrained from commenting as he guided her along the path, their strides in tandem. But she knew the truth. All good things came to an end, and usually much sooner than one wanted.
* * *
Chapter 7
She had the most beautiful laugh. Arch couldn't get it out of his mind as he danced during the final ball of the Season. Camilla had instructed him to pay attention to each of his partners, but it was difficult when memories of her laughter overshadowed the music being played.
The laughter had filled her eyes, colored her cheeks in crimson, and shaped her mouth to perfection for kissing. He shouldn't have taken advantage, but he'd been unable to stop himself.
Despite her years of marriage, her kisses weren't that of an experienced woman. Rather they were tentative, unsure, as though she didn't quite understand what was happening between them. Perhaps it was only that she'd never known such tenderness. He suspected her husband was the first man to possess her body, and based upon what he'd gathered of her feelings toward the man, he didn't think she hurried to another's bed after the earl drew his last breath.
He wanted very much to introduce her to the glory that could exist between a man and a woman. But could there be true passion with no love? Could there be love with no future?
"As you can well imagine, Mama is quite put out with him," his dance partner said, bringing him back to the task at hand. As he'd not been paying attention, he had no idea with whom her mother was put out.
"He is all of two-and-thirty," she continued. "She believes it is high time he took a wife."
Her brother possibly? He was dancing with the lovely Lady Anne Stanbury, sister to the Duke of Weddington, a man Arch was coming to envy because he'd had the good sense not to make an appearance.
"Do you not agree?" he asked.
"I believe one should marry for love, not because of one's age."
He smiled, finding it quite refreshing to meet a young lady who seemed to have an opinion that was in the minority.
"I understand that this is your first Season as well," she said, smiling brightly.
"Indeed it is."
"And what are your thoughts?"
"I've hardly had a chance to catch my breath since arriving."
She giggled. "Isn't it marvelous? I've rather enjoyed it."
"It has certainly been a Season I shan't soon forget."
The final strains of the tune lingered and faded as he escorted Lady Anne back to her mother.
"Duchess, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to dance with your lovely daughter."
The duchess smiled kindly. "I thought you made a handsome couple."
Lady Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mama, I want to be more than a nice set of matching bookends."
"Dear girl, your first Season is at an end, and you have yet to find a suitor."
"And I'm not worried about it in the least."
"Good for you, Lady Anne," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a full dance card this evening."
He began making his way through the crowd, searching for Camilla. He was on dance number six… or was it seven? He wasn't certain. Panic was beginning to set in. Not only couldn't he remember which dance was to be called next, but he couldn't remember with whom he was supposed to dance.
He felt a delicate hand come to rest on his upper arm. He turned and felt relief swamp him at the sight of Camilla's smiling face. "I can't remember who's next," he admitted.
Her smile grew. "I am."
"Thank God! I don't know how you keep up with it."
She held up her wrist, her dance card dangling along her glove.
"I don't suppose you could get one of those for me?"
"You don't need one. I was standing beside you when you signed every card. I know which dance belongs with which lady."
"You wrote it on the back of your card?"
"No, I simply have a very good memory." The strains of a waltz began. "Would you rather take a walk in the garden?" she asked.
He would, but he feared if he did that, he might be tempted to sneak a kiss. The last ball of the Season, and he'd spotted a lot of kissing going on when couples could elude their chaperones. Many of the ladies were already spoken for, although none on his list were. Camilla had made certain that he wasn't wasting his time, as though he'd consider moments spent with any lovely lady a waste.
After their rinking session, she'd returned to her proper self, determined to find him a wife. Sometimes he felt as though that morning had never happened. And other times, he drifted off to sleep with the memory of her laughter surrounding him.
"No, we'd best stic
k to the task at hand," he said. He'd promised never again to overstep his bounds, but he was finding it to be an extremely difficult promise to keep, especially when the evening required that she remain near.
He escorted her onto the dance floor, and when he took her into the circle of his arms, he wished he could chase off the feeling that overcame him: that she was exactly where she belonged.
She was dressed in a gown of the palest pink, edged in blue, her bosom modestly revealed. Pink roses adorned her upswept hair. The jewels at her throat glittered almost as much as her eyes.
"You're enjoying yourself," he said.
Her smile blossomed as the flowers in her hair had done before being set in place. "Immensely. I love balls: the dancing, the music, the beautiful clothes, the elaborate decorations. I always feel so alive."
"You're quite popular."
"My dance card could have been filled, but I wanted an opportunity to observe you with several ladies. The next dance, however, I shan't pass up. It's to be with a duke, and you shall dance with his daughter."
"I thought I just danced with the daughter of a duke."
"You did. Lady Anne's father was a duke, but he died some years back. Her brother is not in attendance."
"Is he available?" he asked, fairly certain that the duke wasn't, based on the conversation he'd had with the man's sister. Arch kept his voice lighthearted as he learned the rules of the game that she played so adroitly.
"Not to me. He has yet to obtain an heir."
She kept her gaze on his, making him feel as though no one in the room were more important. And he realized that was probably part of the game as well.
"Were you taken with Lady Anne?" she asked.
"Lady Anne?"
"The woman with whom you just danced."
"Ah, yes, Lady Anne, who believes a person should marry for love."
"It sounds as though you two are of a like mind, so she is a possibility?"
"I think not. She was very nice, but hardly half my age."
As an Earl Desires Page 7
