As an Earl Desires

by Lorraine Heath

  "Men just aren't any good at saying how they feel."

  "Archie is. He's very good at it. We weren't supposed to keep any secrets from each other. He knew they'd found you, and he didn't tell me."

  He held her hands. In spite of the scars, they were good hands for holding. "What would be different if he'd told you?"

  "I wouldn't hurt so badly." She sniffed. "She loved you, you know? Your mother. She was trying to protect you. Your father was a horrible man. He wasn't really a bastard, though, because he was legitimate."

  He laughed, a deep rumble that reminded her so much of Archie. The way the corners of his twinkling eyes wrinkled.

  "Darlin', I wasn't referring to his ancestry when I called him a bastard. And I know my mother was probably doing what she thought was best, and maybe it was. But I know that sometimes when a man gets to the end of a long road, and looks back over where he's traveled, he can sometimes wonder if he might be in a better place if he'd taken a different turn farther down the road rather than staying on the one he was traveling. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Warner did what he thought was best. But that don't mean that years from now he won't look back and wonder if he shouldn't have taken a different turn."

  She studied him. "Not only men. Women, too, look back and wonder."

  And sometimes in looking back, a woman could realize that her dreams had changed.

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  It amazed Arch how quickly he'd settled into the routine of his old life. He was once again simply Archibald Warner. Untitled. Common. Plain. Mr. Warner to his students.

  He was teaching again—as his father had taught before him. In the same classroom he'd used before he'd gone on his grand adventure. That was how he now thought of the time when he was away. As his grand adventure. His eyes had been opened, and as his father had said, once opened, when again closed, the mind still saw what the eyes had viewed.

  His father had possessed a myriad of sayings. In retrospect, Arch was beginning to wonder what his father had seen, had experienced that allowed him to have such insight in order to realize that not everything a man learned was appreciated. And that there were some things he was better off not knowing.

  Arch stood before his desk, listening as a young man stutteringly read one of Shakespeare's sonnets, obviously having difficulty not because he didn't know the words but because he couldn't decipher the meaning of the passage. Arch thought of Camilla reading her first sentence. It was more difficult to read when the words coming together weren't what was expected, and thus made no sense. It confused the mind.

  "Mr. Warner?"

  A young gentleman on the back row was waving his hand as though his arm were caught in a heavy gale.

  "Don't interrupt, Mr. Newman."

  "But, Mr. Warner, sir—"

  "You'll have your chance when Mr. Ford is finished."

  "But Lady Sachse is here, sir."

  Arch felt as though the boy had bludgeoned him. He jerked his gaze toward the window, but the sunlight created a glare. If he couldn't see out, how did the boy?

  His student was no doubt playing a prank or sadly mistaken. Still Arch walked to the window for a clearer view and sighted the lady in question. He felt as though his ribs were caving in, and his heart was fighting for freedom. He could see her carriage parked a distance behind her as she strolled elegantly over the lawn.

  What in the world was she doing there? It had been over a month since he'd left her, a month of trying to forget her, a month of fighting to remember every little detail about her.

  "Can we go see her, sir?"

  "No, Mr. Newman, you may not. You are, however, responsible for maintaining order in this classroom until I return."

  He told himself not to hurry, not to give the impression that he was anxious to see her, but his feet seemed to be moving independently of his mind. Which he supposed was a good thing as he wanted a private moment with her before others were rushing out to greet her. She was a heroine of sorts around there. She'd sent the twenty thousand pounds he'd given her to the school, with a note that it was to be invested, the additional amount it earned to be used for scholarships for those who couldn't afford to attend the school otherwise.

  Obviously, with her upcoming marriage to the duke, she no longer had a need for the provision he'd made for her, and while he was well acquainted with her generous nature and knew the school was grateful for the endowment, he'd preferred thinking that he'd managed to do something for her, something no one else had done.

  As he neared, his feet finally slowed, perhaps because his heart was thundering so loudly. He'd not forgotten how lovely she was, but to see her in person rather than only in his dreams was bittersweet. He wondered how he should address her: my lady or Your Grace.

  He dipped his gaze to her hands, looking for evidence of a ring, of her marriage having taken place but as she was wearing gloves, he couldn't discern the state of her life. He'd hoped if their paths ever crossed again, she'd at least look happy. Instead, she looked at him as though he'd deeply disappointed her.

  "Hello," he managed past the knot that had risen in his throat. "I'd never thought to see you again."

  "So I gathered," she said. No icy haughtiness wove its way through her voice. Rather she sounded incredibly sad. "We'd made a promise to have no more secrets between us, but you knew when you left for London that they'd found the earl."

  "Yes, I thought it best to greet him myself, alone."

  "I never took you to be a coward, slinking away in the dead of night without even a proper good-bye."

  It had hardly been the dead of night. Still she'd made her point. He considered taking a page from her book, hiding the truth behind a wall of lies so as to protect himself, but in the end, he cared for her too much not to be honest.

  "I feared if I went to see you that I wouldn't have the strength not to ask you to marry me, and that would have put you in the awkward position of saying no and me in the dreadful position of having to pretend that I hadn't died on the inside."

  "So certain were you that I would say no?"

  "Camilla, I can't make you a duchess. I can't even keep you as a countess. Marriage to me would strip you of your title. You would no longer by my lady… well, you would be my lady but that is hardly the same thing."

  "I can't make you a father… so there."

  She'd delivered her statement with her nononsense hard edge she'd used when first he'd met her, but there was a subtle difference to the delivery that he couldn't quite fathom. Not a challenge, but rather an acceptance.

  "It is hardly the same thing. I can live quite happily without being a father. As you have stated for as long as I've known you, you have no wish to live without a title."

  "I told you that I couldn't live without respect, and yes, there was a time when I associated respect with a title; but that was before you taught me to read. You changed the way that I viewed myself. You gave me a wondrous gift, Archie. And then you broke my heart by not realizing that I was no longer the woman I'd been when first we met. I thought you loved me."

  "I do. Not a moment passes that I don't think of you."

  "You told me that if I searched for love, to one man I would be the most important person in his world."

  That seemed ages ago, another lifetime, when he'd lived with hope in his heart and romance in his soul. "And you are the most important person in my world, but it is a very small world."

  "I would rather rule in a small world than not rule at all."

  He stared at her, trying to decipher what surely must have been a riddle. "Did I hear you correctly?" he finally dared to ask.

  "I can't speak to what you heard, only what I said."

  Ah, that was the Camilla he knew, striving to distract him, suddenly fearing that she might be the one to be hurt.

  "What of your duke?" he asked.

  "Apparently I was mistaken about the aristocracy knowing little of love. He believes it is worth fighting for, so here
I am doing battle when I haven't the proper arsenal."

  "Oh, my dear Camilla, you not only have the proper arsenal, but victory was yours the moment you stepped upon the field." He dropped down to one knee and took her hand. "Will you honor me and grant me my heart's desire by becoming my wife?"

  Tears pooled in her eyes, rolled over onto her cheeks. Releasing a tiny gasp, she nodded before dropping to the ground and winding her arms around his neck. "I thought I'd die when you didn't come back for me."

  He rocked her back and forth. "Oh, my darling, forgive me. I thought I was giving you what you wanted."

  "Well, you thought wrong." She leaned back, her face awash in tears. "I can't carry a tune to save my life so I doubt that my voice will ever delight you, but I love you with every fiber of my being, and I want you to hold me near for a thousand years."

  He cupped her face between his hands. "I shall hold you near for eternity."

  With tenderness and heartfelt devotion, he kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears, knowing they were from joy not sorrow or fear. He wondered how he'd ever thought that he could live the remainder of his life without her by his side. What a sad and lonely existence it would have been.

  Suddenly it was as though he were once again whole and complete. She was the reason his heart beat and his lungs drew in air. As though the world agreed, he heard shouts, claps, and laughter.

  Drawing back, he discovered that the boys from his classroom surrounded them.

  "Lookee! Mr. Warner was kissing Lady Sachse!" Mr. Newman shouted, pointing with glee.

  "Oh, no," Camilla said, smiling brightly. "Mr. Warner was kissing the soon-to-be Mrs. Warner, and it's a title I shall proudly wear as long as I live."

  The people of Heatherton were all a-titter because the Duke and Duchess of Harrington had come to Heatherton for the wedding. Camilla had planned on a small gathering for the ceremony, but once Archie's mother had begun making a list of guests who simply couldn't be overlooked… well, by the time she was finished, the entire town received an invitation. The advantages and drawbacks to being married in the village church where Archie had grown up.

  Camilla had arrived at the church in the duke's own coach, and she would leave in his open carriage, with her husband at her side. Now she and Rhys stood outside the door waiting to hear the music that would herald her arrival. She wore an elegant white gown with a long train. She held a bouquet of pink roses.

  "You look beautiful, Camilla," Rhys said quietly.

  She glanced up at him. "Thank you."

  "The Marlborough House Set won't be the same without you."

  She laughed lightly. "I shan't miss it. Isn't that odd? When there was a time when I so desperately wanted to be part of it."

  "I'm certain the Prince of Wales would welcome you should you decide to mingle in London."

  "Undoubtedly. His gift to us included a note saying almost precisely the same thing. I was always welcome. But it's no longer what will make me happy. Nor would it make Archie happy. I love him so much, Rhys." She placed her hand on his arm. "I never realized why you and Lydia risked so much to be together. Until now. Nothing is more important to me than the man who waits for me inside the church."

  "I daresay there is nothing more important to him than you."

  "I only hope that he won't come to regret that he won't have children."

  His face split into a devilish grin. "There is an old wives' tale I once heard that passing beneath an arch can cure many an ill. I venture to guess that tonight you'll be beneath an arch."

  "Oh, you naughty man, even to suggest such a thing." Had any other man spoken to her thusly, she would have been offended, but she and Rhys had a long and intimate history, and although she'd never visited his bed, she knew many of the women who had.

  Looking away, she felt the heat suffuse her face. She suspected that he was quite right. She would indeed be beneath Arch tonight.

  Hearing the music vibrating through the organ pipes, she took a deep breath and placed her hand on Rhys's offered arm.

  "Are you ready, Countess?" he asked.

  It was strange to hear him address her with a title for the last time. Once she exchanged vows with Archie, she would once again be a commoner, although she suspected that he'd never view her as common.

  "I am ready to shed myself of all the trappings of rank," she said without remorse. "I've never been more happy or sure of the path that I'm about to follow."

  "He is a fortunate man, Camilla. If I were not madly in love with my wife, I would envy him."

  She pinched his arm. "Envy him anyway."

  His laughter accompanied them into the church, then fell silent as the immensity of the occasion dawned upon them both. The church was packed to the rafters, and she thought that even the nonreligious were in attendance. But she barely noticed the crowd once her gaze fell on Archie, waiting for her. Winston stood beside him to serve as best man.

  But all she could think was that she was getting married to the one man who could truly make her happy. He was so handsome standing there that he took her breath, and she was hardly aware that she walked beside another man up the aisle.

  In truth, she was hardly aware of walking. She felt as though she'd fallen into a dream, but she knew that she'd never awaken from it. That with Archie, if they never had anything beyond this, still they would have everything.

  "Who gives this woman?" the minister asked.

  "I, the Duke of Harrington, do," Rhys said.

  Then Rhys was gone, and she found herself beside Archie, her hand nestled in his.

  "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

  "I am sure that I love you. I am sure that I wish to spend the remainder of my life with you. Beyond that, I am sure of nothing."

  "You've given me all that I ask." He turned to the minister and gave a nod.

  "Dearly beloved…"

  The words flowed forth with resonance and purpose. The ceremony seemed at once brief and too lengthy, vows exchanged, a simple gold band placed upon her finger, a tender kiss pressed to her lips. And then the words that it seemed she'd waited forever to hear.

  "It is my honor to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Warner."

  * * *

  It was a night of celebration. Tables surrounded Archie's house—the one where his mother had lived. Now she was living with Nancy and Owen, so her older son and his wife could have some time alone.

  Camilla was more than ready for that time alone. But first there had been well wishes from everyone in the town, shaking hands, offering them the best.

  Winston had been the first in line, taking her in his arms, bending her back, and planting a kiss on her mouth. She'd actually laughed when at last he'd straightened her.

  "I suppose your mouth does that whenever you cross paths with a pretty girl," she'd admonished.

  "No. Only when my brother marries a woman of whom I heartily approve." He'd kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Make him happy."

  "I will," she'd promised. "And I'll begin searching for a wife for you."

  He'd looked horrified. "No thanks. Marriage isn't for me."

  Nancy's daughters had given their Auntie Camilla a kiss. Camilla had loved the new title: auntie. She wondered why she'd ever set her sights on the title of duchess. It seemed so unimportant somehow.

  She'd danced with Archie, Rhys, Winston, and two dozen other men. She'd laughed, been toasted, and watched as her husband had looked upon her as though no other woman existed.

  And when she thought her feet wouldn't be able to endure another round of dancing, Archie lifted her into his arms. "Let's take the merriment inside, shall we?" he whispered.

  Although she heard the shouts and cheers from those who had yet to leave, she merely nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder and wound her arms around his neck as he carried her into the house and up the stairs to the room they would share from this night forth.

  Someone had turned down the blankets—his mother she suspected—and left the
light in a lamp burning.

  "Shall I try to find Frannie?" he asked as he set her on her feet.

  "No." Frannie had come with her, as had Lillian, and though neither could earn what they had when they worked for a countess, it seemed each felt being with her made up the difference. She couldn't have been more glad because she hadn't been sure how she'd make it without them. "You can undress me."

  He pulled her into his arms. "I don't know if I can wait that long. To have you near this entire month while preparations were going on for the wedding and not have you in my bed nearly drove me mad."

  Before she could reply that it had been the same for her, near madness, his mouth was on hers, cutting off anything she might have wanted to say… and nothing she had to say seemed important any longer. All that mattered were the sensations coiling tightly within her preparing to be unleashed. Oh, it seemed an eternity had passed since she felt the hardness of his body pressed up against hers. She was suddenly craving him, and she wanted to shout for the joy of it, because he stirred within her sensations that before him had been foreign, because his touch was like magic.

  Even through the many layers of her clothing, she could feel the heat of his hands, the impatience, the power that would cause her to soar to unlimited heights.

  He trailed his hot mouth along her throat. "Oh, Camilla, how I've missed you."

  "Mrs. Warner," she rasped.

  "What?"

  "I'm Mrs. Warner. Call me it. Just once."

  He leaned back until she could meet his gaze. He skimmed his gloved fingers around her face. "I love you, Mrs. Warner."

  Tears stung her eyes. "I love being Mrs. Warner."

  "That's good, because I plan for you to be Mrs. Warner for a great many years." He stripped off his gloves and dropped them to the floor. "Now let's see if I can figure out how to get you out of all this."

  It didn't seem long at all before she was lying on the bed, completely nude, and saying, "I always knew you were a smart man."

  Then he was stretching out beside her, his clothes shed more quickly and easily than hers. She placed her bare hand against his naked chest, heard him catch his breath, felt the muscles beneath her hand tighten and quiver. He wrapped his hand around hers, brought her hand to his lips, his eyes never straying from hers. "We will have a lifetime to go slowly; but I need you, Camilla, and I need you now."