She glanced over at Nancy and Owen, who were also inspecting the damage. She wondered if Nancy cuddled against her unattractive husband and shared secrets with him. In the dark, his homeliness wouldn't be visible, and perhaps whatever comforts or reassurances he gave her more than made up for having to look at his unsightly countenance.
Owen said something to his wife. She peered up at him and smiled. Tucking her against his side, he grinned at her, and it was as though some magical transformation had taken place. He appeared the same, and yet looked so different, as though all the good and charitable aspects to his character were shining through for the entire world to see. Was that the power of love? That it could make even the unsightly beautiful?
And what of those carved from ice? Could it make them warm?
"They're interesting to watch, aren't they?"
She snapped her attention to Archie. "Pardon?"
He tipped his head slightly in the direction of the other couple. "My sister and her unattractive husband."
"I wouldn't expect you to be so unkind in describing the man who married your sister."
"But you agree, do you not, that he isn't a handsome fellow?"
"I can't help but agree when the truth is so apparent."
"But if you watch them long enough, you begin to see in him what she sees."
She nodded. "I was only just noticing. It's rather amazing. I thought perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight. "
"No, it is love. She is his queen, and he her prince."
"Why not her king?"
"Because a king would have to place his importance above that of the queen, and Owen loves Nancy far more than he does himself."
"She is a fortunate lady, your sister."
"She is indeed. Will you find a wife for me who looks upon me as Nancy does Owen?"
"I will certainly strive to do just that. You deserve to be regarded with such lofty affection." And she found herself desperately wishing she could be that woman. Before melancholy could take hold, she turned her attention back to the ruined building. "I think you should provide the school with the funds to rebuild this structure—but of brick this time, so it is less likely to burn."
"Mr. Spellman would consider that a frivolous use of my funds."
"Who cares what he thinks? The whole point in being wealthy is so you can do with your money as you wish."
"I thought the whole point in having money was so that you never did without."
"Well, certainly that is one advantage. Another is to use it to make yourself happy."
"And providing the school with funds to rebuild would make you happy?"
She scowled at him. "No, it would make you happy. It is, after all, your school."
His laughter echoed around them. She did so love his laughter.
"Making me happy makes you happy, so you won't object to my allocation of funds."
"It is not my place to object to how you spend your funds, my lord. You may spend it all, and it will make no difference to me, for I shan't marry an impoverished duke."
Nor did she suspect that she would marry one whom she loved, because she feared that her heart had already begun to inch toward the man walking beside her.
Arch stood in the front yard, staring at the village in the distance. The servants were loading the last of his and Camilla's belongings onto the coaches.
"I've packed you a lovely lunch. You and Lady Sachse should stop somewhere along the way and have a picnic."
He glanced down at his mother. "Perhaps we will. I'd like for you, for all the family, to come to Sachse Hall for Christmas."
Wrapping an arm around one of his, she sidled up against him. He didn't remember her seeming so frail.
"We might do just that," she said softly.
He swallowed hard. "I won't be coming back, Mum."
"I know."
"I was hoping to find what I had before, but it's gone."
"You've changed, lad. You've experienced things most of these folks never will. It's made you different."
"It's more than that." But he didn't know exactly how to explain it. "What do you think of Lady Sachse?"
"That you care for her more than she cares for you. But then you always did have a soft spot for wounded creatures."
Surprised by her astute observation, he glanced down to find her studying him as much as he wished to scrutinize her. "So you agree that she's been wounded?"
"I can see it in her eyes, but even if I couldn't, I'd met her husband—when your father and I went to London. He wanted to spend a little time with his distant cousin. A little was about all I could stand. His wife at the time was sweet enough, but Lord Sachse caused my skin to crawl. If I'd been married to him, I think I would have given my son to Gypsies before I'd have let the boy grow up under his father's influence."
"Bit harsh, isn't it?"
"I didn't like him, Arch. Didn't like him at all. Your countess would have done well to stay away from him."
"She was sixteen, Mum. Too young not to be lured by the potential of his power. She's looking for a duke now."
"Well, I've always believed it was good for a woman to have goals."
Hearing Win's laughter, he turned and saw his brother standing near Camilla. "They must be comparing afflictions," he mumbled dryly.
"I did think she was very clever to respond to his teasing as she did."
"Yes, she's a very clever lady." He hugged his mother closely. "We need to be going, but I look forward to seeing you at Christmas."
"Take care with her heart, Arch, and with yours."
It was difficult to take care with something he didn't have the power to possess.
With Archie beside her, Camilla walked along the edge of the babbling brook. They'd only driven for a short time before he'd ordered the driver to stop so they might have a picnic. She'd feared he'd use the opportunity to woo her, but he seemed to have other matters on his mind.
They'd not spoken at all while they ate the simple meal. She'd found comfort in the silence.
"How are your feet?" he asked. He'd shortened his stride to accommodate her.
"Healing." She glanced over at him. "I used your mother's salve again last night."
"You should have called me. I would have gladly applied it."
She'd almost done exactly that.
"I like your family," she admitted, changing the subject.
"They like you."
"I shall have to keep them in mind as I'm helping you to find a wife. She should be pleasing to them as well, because I think you'd find fault with any woman who wasn't."
"They mean a great deal to me."
"You're very fortunate to have them. Although I must confess that I'm most surprised that they don't live with you."
"My father is buried in Heatherton. My mother won't leave him. Besides, she's settled in her ways and rather enjoys the life she has there."
"But your brother is next in line."
"Yes, he is. We spoke of the possibility of him coming to live with me next year. These first few months I expected to stumble quite a bit, and I wanted some time to grow accustomed to my new position. I could hardly educate Win when I had so much to learn."
"I could have taught you both at the same time."
He slid his gaze over to her. "Another reason not to have him around just yet. I prefer not to share you."
She considered mentioning that he'd not known her when he made his decision to come to London alone, but something in his serious expression told her that he'd adeptly moved on to another subject and that suddenly they were no longer discussing the reasons his family wasn't living with him.
He stopped walking, faced the water, planted his feet apart, and put his hands on his hips. He looked very much the way she imagined a sea captain might, standing tall on the deck of a ship, before issuing orders to his crew.
"You said you had secrets."
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she felt as though she couldn't find any air to breath
e. He didn't look at her, just stood there as though lost in the journey of the stream.
"Secrets that would keep you from coming to my bed."
Her heart slowly slid back into place, and air somehow managed to find its way into her lungs. "That's correct."
"How many?"
"How many what?"
"How many secrets?"
"This is ludicrous—"
He spun around, and she stepped quickly back, almost tripping over the hem of her dress.
His mouth was open and whatever he'd been about to say must have slipped from his mind, because he did nothing except shake his head. She'd never seen him look so beaten, not even after battling a fire that had destroyed a building.
"Two," she blurted. "Two secrets."
"And the consequences of my uncovering them?"
"Shame, mortification…" She shook her head.
"You'd never again look at me as you sometimes do, as though I were special to you."
"You are special, Camilla. I don't know why you fail to see that."
"Because I know myself better than anyone."
"I want you, I can't deny that. But I want all of you or none of you."
"Then you shall have none of me."
"We shall see, Countess, we shall see."
He walked away from her, the challenge she'd seen in his eyes as unsettling as his words. He was a man who knew how to fight fire, but what did he know of battling ice? Apparently a good deal. She didn't know which terrified her more: that he might discover her secrets or that he'd unleash the desire she'd seen smoldering in his gaze.
* * *
Chapter 14
Sachse Hall was a large, cold, cavernous structure. And so terribly quiet. Arch couldn't say that he didn't like it, but when he walked through it—as he was presently doing—he felt as though he wore a cloak that didn't quite fit. The servants moved about like silent wraiths, ever conscious not to disturb the master of the house.
And he'd always enjoyed the clanging of pots and the pounding of bread dough, the smell of flour and cinnamon, and the cook's joyful voice lifted in song. None of that activity was apparent here, although he was certain that it was taking place because delicious meals were spread before him on the large dining room table each evening.
Gilded framed portraits adorned the walls. Marble statuettes, many of them questionable in taste, sat in alcoves. Armor had been fitted together so that it seemed knights stood guard at several portals. He fully expected one to give him a salute at any moment.
And the place contained far too many rooms for one man to walk through. He could hardly see the point. He supposed if he'd grown up with all this, he might have had a better appreciation for it. As it was, he thought it a waste of materials and objects. Seventy-four rooms. Why would any man need seventy-four rooms?
He found the whole place ostentatious. Camilla, on the other hand, seemed quite at home here. As always, she was a fountain of knowledge, knowing the history behind each artifact. He'd suggested she compile it all so it could be passed on to those who came after him. Enthusiastic with his suggestion, she'd indicated that she would begin dictating to her secretary as soon as possible. After all, that much information would surely leave her fingers black with ink.
He'd only smiled. The things she worried over.
He, himself, found satisfaction in applying ink to paper, and his hands remained unmarked. When he'd commented on that fact, she'd given him one of her indulgent smiles and assured him that her caution was necessary in order to impress a duke.
She still had her sights set on a man of high rank, and that knowledge rankled. He'd thought they'd shared something special while in Heatherton.
She reminded him of the moon, growing larger, more visible, only gradually to disappear again.
He turned down the hallway that led to his study. The footman acknowledged him and opened the door.
"Thank you," Arch said quietly.
The footman blushed. Apparently, Arch wasn't supposed to be thanking these people for doing their jobs. He thought that over time his muscles would become weak, and he would go to fat, because he was allowed to do nothing for himself. He didn't haul the water for his bath, couldn't help with the care of the livestock, and had a man who helped him dress. He was surprised that he didn't have a servant who sat beside him during dinner to deliver the food to his mouth.
As he walked into the room, Camilla smiled. "Good afternoon, Lord Sachse. I was writing a letter to your family to thank them for their hospitality."
He angled his head toward Lillian. "I suspect your secretary was actually doing the writing."
Camilla's smile withered. "Well, of course. But the words are mine."
"My apologies. It seems I'm in a foul mood. It's too quiet around here."
"I was thinking the same thing. I thought perhaps I would begin extending invitations to a few select people."
"Who exactly?"
"I was thinking the Duke of Kingsbridge."
"And his daughter, I suppose."
"Of course." Camilla turned to Lillian. "We'll finish later."
"Yes, my lady."
After Lillian left, Camilla rose and faced him. "It seems to be more than the quiet that has you in a foul mood."
"I've asked you to go with me on a picnic, and you've refused. I've asked you to accompany me on walks about the garden, and you've been occupied with all your silly letters."
"They're not silly. They're an important part of being a countess."
"I know that they're important, Camilla, but not more so than I. Last night, I dined alone. Since we've arrived here, I feel as though you're avoiding me."
"It's for the best, Archie. You shouldn't have expectations where I'm concerned."
Ah, but he did. He had great expectations of getting her into his bed, of turning the ice countess to fire, of melting her through and through, until she remained the warm woman he knew she could be.
"And this Kingsburrow—"
"Kingsbridge."
"Do you have expectations where he's concerned?"
Her gaze darted around the room as though she was seeking the answer or perhaps the courage to admit why this particular gentleman was to be issued an invitation. She cleared her throat before settling her gaze back on his, defiance in those brown eyes of hers.
"You met him at the last ball of the Season. I told you then that he's been a widower for some time. He has three grown sons. He's far from impoverished, so he has no need to look across the Atlantic for a wife. He has five estates valued at—"
"Camilla, I don't care about his worth."
"I do." She angled her head haughtily. "I must. There is very little of worth that I can bring to a marriage—"
"You bring yourself," he interrupted hotly, despising the fact that she constantly failed to give the proper value to people. "I don't understand why you continually fail to acknowledge your value. Strip me bare of all this"—he flung his arm around in a circle—"and I'm still valuable, a person of worth."
"Well, jolly good for you. I don't feel as though I am, and I wish you'd stop judging me by your standards!"
"I'm not judging you."
"Yes, you are. Constantly. I've repeatedly told you that I can't be what you want, and yet you persist in trying to shape me. You know things about me that I've shared with no one. You know me better—"
"I feel as though I know you not at all!" Releasing a heavy sigh, he shook his head. "I didn't seek you out to quarrel. This Queensbridge—"
"Kingsbridge."
The fire in her eyes excited him. He knew he shouldn't allow it to, but it did. And he could bring the fire to the surface so easily simply by teasing her and mucking up the man's name. Then it occurred to him that she might not be so quick to anger if she didn't care about the man. It seemed the joke was on him.
"Kingsbridge then. You'll invite his entire family?"
"Only him and his daughter. His sons are gadding about the world somewhere. Is th
ere anyone else you'd like to invite?"
"The Duke and Duchess of Harrington, if they're back from their travels."
"They should be. Anyone else?"
"I hardly know anyone else."
"I'll give it some thought. I don't want too large an affair."
"In other words, you don't want anyone distracting Kingsburn—"
"Kingsbridge!"
"—from his pursuit of you."
"I do hope you will address him properly when he is here."
Quickly, so she had no chance to object, he tucked her beneath the chin and winked. "Of course, when he is within earshot. When he isn't, I believe I shall continue to take delight in tormenting you by bumbling his name."
He walked away from her and went to his desk. Several stacks of letters awaited him. "Don't suppose you'd help me by reading through some of my correspondence?"
"Reading strains my eyes and gives me a headache. I could call Lillian in—"
"No." He sat behind his desk and studied her. "Have you ever had a doctor examine your eyes? Perhaps you need spectacles."
"There is nothing wrong with my eyes. Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Stay."
She was two steps into her hasty retreat before his word stopped her. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I thought you were about to become busy handling the affairs of the estate."
"I am, but I don't wish to be alone while doing it. I would suggest that you sit by the window and read a book, but as that would put a strain on your eyes as well, perhaps you could simply watch the garden, be available should any questions arise. After all, you had promised to help me learn my duties."
Her gaze darted toward the door. He could see a subtle straightening of her shoulders as though she was shoring up her resolve, and he wondered what it was she feared his discovering while in his presence.
"Of course, I'm more than pleased to be of service." She moved to the chair by the window and sat facing him, rather than the garden. "Do get on with your business."
He looked over the stacks of papers and letters and hardly knew where he wanted to begin. At the beginning, he supposed.
As an Earl Desires Page 14
