She gulped her wine to wet her suddenly dry mouth. Barbaric thoughts brought upon by the barbaric company. Dinner here was nothing like that to which she was accustomed. Once the food had been placed on the table, the cook had disappeared, and everyone had taken to serving themselves—eating, talking, and laughing with hardly a breath in between. Although dear Archie, bless him, had placed servings on her platter before placing them on his own.
While Archie sat at the head of the table, she sat to his right, with his brother across from her, his sister beside her. Even the daughters sat at the table, one on a stack of books beside her mother because she was so young and small, while the other sat across from her mother and beside her father. Archie's mother was at the foot of the table, looking on with such pride that Camilla could only think that love was truly blind because she seemed totally unaware that the gusto with which everyone ate and talked was hardly appropriate at the dinner table.
Camilla would have to find a strong wife for Archie. One who understood that children did not eat at the table with adults, that one did not serve oneself, and that conversation shouldn't include references to barnyard animals.
"Do you think you'll have some time to look over the livestock?" Winston asked, planting his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand, as he leaned toward Archie.
This statement followed his earlier assessment on one of the cows having difficulty breeding.
"I'll make time," Archie said, as he pressed his hand against Winston's elbow and shoved it off the table.
Winston opened his mouth as though to protest. Archie tilted his head toward Camilla, and said softly, but with authority, "Mind your manners."
Winston had the good graces to look sheepish. "Don't suppose the peerage puts their elbows on the table."
"And neither should you, Win," Nancy said. "It sets a poor example for my girls."
"You'll have to forgive me, sis. Me and Mum aren't accustomed to formal dinners."
Good Lord, Camilla thought. If he considered this formal, she'd hate to be around for an informal affair.
"Mum and I," Arch said.
Winston grinned and winked. "You can take the lord out of the schoolroom, but you can't take the teacher out of the lord, eh?"
"Something like that."
"You were always a wonderful teacher. Do you miss it, Arch?" Nancy asked.
"I haven't had time to miss much of anything, except for the family."
"Do you have family, Lady Sachse?" Nancy asked.
"No," Camilla answered.
"Then please know that you're always welcome in my home," Mrs. Warner said.
"You are all too kind," Camilla said. The words were true, and she did mean them, but she realized that they didn't sound very heartfelt. "Truly," she added. "You're most kind. Lord Sachse is a very fortunate man."
"I don't know that he considers himself such," Winston said with another wink.
"Win," Arch said, with a low voice and a slight shake of his head.
"She don't know that you'd rather be here?" Winston asked.
"Doesn't not don't. And stop talking as though you've no education."
Winston grinned broadly. "I only do it to irritate you."
"Keep it up, and you and I will have a session out in the barn when we're done here."
Winston angled his head cockily. "Looks to me like you've grown soft since you left. I could beat you now."
"Don't bet on it."
Camilla stared at Archie. Surely they weren't talking about taking fists to each other.
"There will be no fisticuffs while Archie is visiting," their mother said, a firmness in her voice.
"Ah, Mum—" Winston began.
"Don't Mum me. I won't stand for fighting. Your brother is a man of position now. You must respect that."
"He's the one who always said a man has to earn his respect."
"Do you not respect your brother, Mr. Warner?" Camilla asked, feeling a need to stand up for Archie.
He winked at her. "There's not a man in all of England whom I respect more."
"You have an odd way of showing it."
"It's only brotherly banter, Lady Sachse. But then if you've got no family, you wouldn't know about that, would you?"
"That's enough, Win," Arch said before she could respond. "The aristocracy plays by different rules."
"So it appears. I've never been much for rules myself." He placed his elbow back on the table.
Archie shoved it off. "Which is the very reason that you and I shall spend some time in the barn following dinner."
"You're not going to fight, are you?" Camilla asked, although she was quite surprised to find herself exhilarated by the notion. It was almost as though Archie were defending her.
He smiled. "Of course not, but I will use harsher language than is appropriate at a dinner table."
"I daresay Winston could use a good talking to," Nancy said. "They offered him a position at the school, and he refused it."
"I've got no wish to spend my day with a bunch of brats."
"Do you not like children?" Camilla asked.
"Can't stand the little buggers. My nieces being the exception, of course."
She dearly wanted to kick the man. He would no doubt end his life with a houseful of children while she had none.
Archie leaned toward her. "Bank the fires of anger, Countess. He's not serious. Once he determines someone's Achilles' heel, he begins shooting arrows at it."
"He's not very nice."
"I agree with Lady Sachse's assessment of your behavior. You're not being very nice this evening, Win," Nancy said. "And you've had more than enough of the attention. Archie, tell us everything about London."
"It's grand, Nancy. I think you'd like it. You, Owen, and the girls should come to visit next year."
"Oh, that would be lovely. Don't you think, Owen?"
He looked up from his plate and smiled at his wife, and with that simple gesture, Camilla almost forget that he wasn't pleasant to look at.
"If you like," he said quietly.
"I think I would."
He nodded and returned to eating.
"Would you like to come, Mum?" Nancy asked.
Mrs. Warner shook her head. "Your father and I went to London once, when we were young. I didn't much like it. Far too many people, bustling about, knocking into each other, picking a man's pocket while they're doing it."
"I find London exciting," Camilla said. "There is so much to do, so much to see."
"Perhaps you'd give me a private tour," Win suggested, with another wink.
"Have you something in your eye?" Camilla asked.
He sat up a bit straighter. "Pardon?"
"Your eye. I've noticed it twitching ever since we sat down to dinner. I thought perhaps you had something in it. I, for one, wouldn't be at all offended if you were to excuse yourself so you could remove whatever was causing the problem."
Winston slapped a hand over his eye. "My apologies if my affliction offended you. I've visited the best doctors in the area, but they can't figure out why it twitches like that."
"For God's sake, Win—" Archie began.
"No," Camilla said, cutting him off. "It is I who must apologize. I didn't realize… I thought you were flirting. They have no idea what causes your eye to twitch?"
Winston lowered his hand, shook his head, and winked again. "They have no idea. It's been doing it for years. Happens every time I see a pretty girl." This time his wink was accompanied by a dashing grin.
"Win!" Nancy said.
Camilla glanced over at Archie and could see that he was having a difficult time holding back his smile as he shook his head. He cleared his throat. "I apologize for my brother's behavior. He's accustomed to flirting with serving girls at the tavern."
"Oh, come on, no need to apologize. I was only having a bit of fun. When did you stop being able to take a—ow!" Winston glared at his sister. "Hey, Nancy, what did you do that for?"
"What? I didn't do anything."
"I would apologize except that I suffer from an unexplainable affliction. My foot has a tendency to connect with the shin of unpleasant young men."
"Oh, my word! Jolly good for you, Lady Sachse," Nancy exclaimed, just before bursting into a fit of giggles.
Winston winked at Camilla. "I deserved that."
"Would you like another?" Camilla asked.
"No, thank you. One was quite enough."
Camilla felt a hand wrap tightly around hers where it sat on her lap beneath the tablecloth. She glanced over at Archie, and he gave her a warm smile.
"Well done."
"Was this some sort of test?"
"No, we simply aren't as formal as those in London. You can well imagine that I find dinner parties rather boring."
"You hide it well."
"I fear that a time will come when I'll hide everything."
The words remained unspoken, but she heard them loudly enough—a time when he would become as well hidden as she.
"I was thinking—"
"That's a first for the evening, Win," Arch said, as he removed his jacket and draped it over the stall door in the barn. "Whatever were you about, teasing the countess like that?"
"She teased right back. I hadn't expected that."
Neither had Arch. Her reaction had been a pleasant surprise. There were times when he wished he could figure her out, and others when he enjoyed each new discovery and was glad that she was a constant source of unexpected moments.
"I should probably have you come to London next Season," Arch said.
"Whatever for?" Win asked.
"Because if I die without issue, you're next in line, and an incredible number of rules and behaviors need to be learned and followed. After your exhibition during dinner, I think you'll require an inordinate amount of tutoring."
"If you die without issue, I'll simply beg Lady Sachse to take me under her wing. Why did you lie to her about us fighting?"
"Because the idea seemed to bother her, and Mother had already forbidden us to do so." Arch unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it over his head, and carefully placed it on top of his jacket, cravat, and vest. He rolled his shoulders and rocked his head from side to side. It felt marvelous to be unburdened.
"She's a beauty but a bit standoffish," Win added.
"She got the better of you tonight." Arch began bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Why were you being so difficult during dinner?"
"Trying to get a bit of attention. She hardly takes her eyes off you."
Arch stilled and stared at his brother.
"Don't tell me you hadn't noticed," Win said.
He hadn't. On occasion he'd thought he'd caught her watching him, but whenever he looked at her, her gaze seemed to be elsewhere. He shrugged. "She has little interest in me other than helping me learn my duties."
Win jerked his own shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground. A time existed when Arch's clothing would have been there as well instead of neatly folded and put away. "So you've asked her then?"
"I asked her to marry me, but she won't because she's barren."
"Barren? What a stroke of luck. Make her your mistress and you won't have to worry about any by-blows—"
The impact of Arch's fist connecting with his brother's jaw traveled all the way up to his shoulder.
Win staggered backward and dropped to the ground like a sack of seed tossed off a tall man's shoulder. Groaning, he rubbed his jaw. "What did you do that for? I wasn't ready."
"I thought the lesson on respect needed to begin straightaway."
Win pushed himself to his feet. "You didn't like what I was saying."
"Not particularly, no. Camilla is a lady of the highest regard—"
"Camilla? That's a bit intimate isn't it? Is she already your mistress—"
Win ducked the fist that came at his jaw, but apparently wasn't expecting the one that met his midsection. He doubled over and fell to his knees. Breathing heavily, he peered up at Arch. "Was that a yes?"
With his boot to his brother's shoulder, Arch shoved him onto his back. Easy. Much too easy.
"No, of course she's not my mistress." Not that he hadn't entertained the idea. "You're the one who seems to have grown soft here," he said, hoping to distract his brother from comments regarding Camilla.
Win came up and flew at him, tackling him to the ground. They rolled, punched, rolled. Arch was delivering the sturdier, harder blows, while he hardly felt Win's cuffs. It occurred to him that not once since his brother had arrived home from the fields had he addressed Arch by name. His entire family was glad to see him, he had no doubt about that. But there was a subtle difference in the way they spoke to him, as though they weren't quite sure of him. And now he was seeing a difference in the way his brother fought.
"Damm it, Win, fight!" he commanded.
"And risk the wrath of the Crown for harming one of its own?"
"Better the Crown's wrath than mine."
They continued to roll, grunt, and deliver ineffectual blows. Arch felt his anger and frustration growing because everything had changed when the title had passed to him. A time existed when Win would have taken satisfaction in giving his older brother a good pummeling. And now he was treating Arch as he might someone he feared.
Arch had come home because he wanted to feel like his old self, wanted to walk in his old shoes, wanted to pretend for a while that he was no longer the Earl of Sachse. He wanted to find the contentment he'd had in life when he'd known exactly who he was and what his responsibilities entailed. He despised—
The cold water lashed against his head and shoulders. Thank God, some things remained constant. Dear Nancy had always been the one to break him and Win apart. Courageous girl, because she knew how Arch would retaliate.
He shoved off Win and lunged toward her. Her screech echoed through the barn as she fell beneath him. It wasn't until he flung his wet hair out of his eyes that he realized he'd made a grave error. He didn't have Nancy pinned to the ground. No, indeed. He was straddling Lady Sachse.
* * *
Chapter 10
"If you'll excuse me, I believe I hear Mum yelling for me."
Camilla was vaguely aware of Winston skittering out of the barn like the vermin he apparently was and intensely cognizant of Archie lying on top of her. He was raised on his elbows. Still, each rapid, deep breath she drew in caused her breasts to brush against his chest. His bare chest. His magnificent bare chest.
He did have hair, but it was only a light sprinkling, and she longed to touch it, wanted to glide her hands along his chest and shoulders. She'd never felt such incredible yearning with any other man as she felt with him. Desire. Hot and burning.
When the men hadn't returned, Nancy had told Camilla that they probably were going at each other and as she was busy tending to her younger daughter, she'd asked Camilla to check on the men. She'd explained that Camilla would find a bucket of water outside the barn door and was to use it to stop them from fighting. Camilla had considered announcing that a woman of her rank did not stop fights, but she'd been intrigued by the notion that Archie was actually embroiled in such an undignified activity.
She'd stood in the barn doorway and watched them rolling about on the straw-littered floor, listened to the horrible sounds of flesh hitting flesh while their grunts and groans had echoed around them.
When Archie had commanded his brother to fight harder, she'd had no choice except to put an end to the madness. She'd been shivering and shaking as she'd hauled the bucket closer and splashed its contents over them.
But nothing like she was quivering now. Rivulets of water rolled down Archie's face. His hair was wet, his shoulders damp, his breathing labored as though he was still fighting.
Her breathing was no better. The air had grown so incredibly hot that she'd begun to perspire, could feel dew pooling between her breasts.
"How is it
that we seem to end up on the ground together when we least expect it?" he asked.
"Let me up," she rasped. Her voice sounded as though it came from far away, belonged to someone else, someone who didn't truly want to be released.
"Hold still," he ordered, his eyes darkening. "You've straw in your hair."
It hardly seemed a reason not to move, and yet she didn't. He shifted his weight until he was no longer straddling her, but had come to rest between her legs, his chest close enough now to flatten her breasts, the heat of his flesh seeping through her clothing. His breath wafted along her cheek as his gaze wandered from hers and seemed riveted to the spot where he was plucking away bits of straw.
She watched as the muscles of his throat—coated with dew—worked while he swallowed. She studied the grand sweep of his shoulders. He was firm and sturdy, muscle and flesh and brawn. She could see his strength with each slight movement he made, the muscles quivering, rippling, his arms bunched as they strained to support his weight so he didn't squash her completely.
She smelled the musty scent of his sweat and wondered why she experienced no revulsion. She had the uncharacteristic desire to lift her mouth to his throat and gather the drops with her tongue. Taste him. Experience the intimacy of his touch.
But she couldn't risk the intimacy. An educator who no doubt had the means to discover her embarrassing inability to read. She knew Archie well enough to know that if she opened up even a bit, he would insist she unfurl fully, reveal the tainted and impure blossoms of her true self. Then he would loathe her and find even her presence unworthy of one such as he.
She felt the weight of her hair falling away. She slid her gaze to the side, watched as he brought up his hand, filled with a mass of golden brown strands, and buried his face within the abundant tresses. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, and she thought he appeared to be captured in rapture.
"You cannot begin to imagine how I have longed to see your hair unbound, flowing around you." Smiling with triumph, he held his hand out and down as though to visually measure the length of her hair. "It would dip well below the small of your back, I'll wager."
The strands flowed out of his overturned hand. He cradled her cheek, his touch warm, his eyes fevered. "You torment me," he growled. "With your haughtiness, and your do-not-touch attitude. I want nothing more than to melt the ice countess."
As an Earl Desires Page 10
