Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  “What if it is?”

  “Then your point is wasted. Men will always have their mistresses.”

  She tilted her head, more intrigued now. “So you’re saying a man isn’t capable of loving only one woman? That he must have multiple women?”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what she said to make his nostrils flare or cause the color in his cheeks to darken. Whatever it was, he seemed to gain control of himself quickly.

  “So it’s about love? Are you in search of love, Claire?”

  “No.” Never. Love was too elusive. Too flighty. Too unpredictable.

  “That was very adamant.”

  “Love has nothing to do with it.”

  “So it’s about education then? You want to learn the art of lovemaking?”

  She looked away, disconcerted that suddenly her nipples were engorged and pressing against her stays in such an uncomfortable way. She shifted restlessly, fighting her arousal. This was ridiculous. Why should mere words turn her body to fire and her limbs to liquid? And yet with words alone, Lord Blythe had done such a thing, putting images in her head she didn’t want. Of him instructing her on lovemaking.

  “I can teach you what you want to know.” His voice grew husky, surrounding her in the stifling atmosphere of the enclosed carriage, wrapping her in promises she could only begin to guess at.

  He made it sound like she would enjoy such an education. Even her body was beginning to believe him. That secret place between her legs had grown moist. Her breasts ached for him to touch them. But her mind told a different tale. After all, Richard had taught her well with every degrading position he liked to put her in.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Tell me why.”

  Her hand fluttered in the air before falling back to her lap. She stared at her fingers but didn’t really see them. When she raised her head, she looked directly into Nathan’s eyes, so deep and dark, those eyes. So penetrating. So filled with promises that she both wanted to believe and feared to hope for.

  “You’re too … overwhelming. Too big.”

  He chuckled, a low, sensuous sound that sent shivers up her spine. “I’ve been accused of such before.”

  She lowered her gaze, her cheeks hot, other parts of her hotter. “That’s not what I meant. You’re overpowering.”

  “Do I frighten you?”

  “In some ways, yes.”

  “I would never hurt you, Claire. Never.”

  She raised her eyes but found she couldn’t look at him so she looked at the opposite wall of the carriage. “My heart knows that.”

  “But your head doesn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Have I ever laid a hand on you in anger?”

  She shook her head. “Even when I probably deserved it, you’ve never been violent toward me.”

  “A woman never deserves violence. That is a strong word.”

  She shrugged, staring down at her hands again. Her fingers twisted together, turning her knuckles white.

  “Has someone used violence against you, Claire?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Claire’s stomach lurched and panic pushed its claws into her. She wanted to tell him No, of course not, but the words were stuck in her throat. She’d denied things too many times, pretended when she should have admitted countless times.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  There was a pause. A long pause in which she wanted to peek at Nathan to see what he was thinking, but she was too afraid for fear of seeing his disbelief.

  “Who?”

  She cringed at the strangled word that held so much suppressed anger.

  “Look at me, Claire. Please.”

  She continued to stare at her hands, more terrified than she’d been in the last year. She’d thought Richard’s death would put an end to her fears, that she could travel to France and Italy and discover a new life. Maybe even a new Claire. She’d been wrong, of course. Her past would always be with her because a past couldn’t be wiped clean like fingerprints in dust. It was forever there. A scar that would neither disappear nor fade.

  “Claire.” He lowered his voice, softened it until it surrounded her like a child’s security blanket.

  She slowly raised her head and looked at him. There was anger in his expression, but also compassion. She hadn’t expected the compassion.

  “Tell me who.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.”

  “Richard?”

  She hated hearing her husband’s name on Nathan’s lips. She’d wanted the man dead for so long, but now that it had happened she understood that she would never be free of him.

  “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. His lips pressed together and his hands clenched into fists. She watched those hands, old fears resurfacing.

  “Look at me, Claire,” he said again.

  She tore her gaze from his hands to look at his face.

  “If I could, I would kill him all over again.”

  “God already took care of that.”

  “Maybe the devil took care of it and he’s burning in hell.”

  She tried to smile but the effort failed. “He would hate that.”

  Nathan leaned forward and took her hand in his, those long, strong fingers playing with her much smaller ones. He stared at their hands, then looked at her. A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead and she longed to push it away but didn’t dare.

  “I will never hurt you in any way, Claire. You have my word on that.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looked into her eyes while his hands continued to play with hers. “Does Sebastian know?”

  She tried to yank her hand away but he held tight, yet not too tight. Firm, but not bruising.

  “I will deal with Sebastian if he did.”

  “No! Sebastian never suspected anything. Richard … He was adept at hiding his true nature.”

  “You never told your brother?”

  “Richard said he would ruin Sebastian and Nicholas if I said anything.”

  “Surely you know Sebastian would have taken you out of harm’s way if he knew.”

  “Richard threatened my maid, the staff, anyone I had an attachment to. He instinctively knew my weaknesses and exploited them. And he would have done it too. He was evil. Horrible. Everyone thought he was such a good man. So knowledgeable, such a gentleman. They never saw the real Richard.”

  The words, once let loose, flowed from her. Too many years closed up inside her, too many secrets fighting to get out. And she didn’t want Nathan to think Sebastian had anything to do with her horrific marriage. She’d kept it from her brother, afraid of what Richard would do to him. The man was so powerful, just one word, one whisper in the king’s ear and Richard could ruin anyone he chose to. Including her brother. And he never failed to remind her of that.

  “So that’s what you meant when you said most men live with a thin veneer of respectability?”

  She nodded.

  Nathan tugged lightly on her hands and she looked up at him. The compassion in his eyes nearly undid her.

  “Please don’t tell my brother.”

  “He needs to know, Claire.”

  “He doesn’t need to know. It’s all in the past. Done. Richard’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “I think he’s still hurting you. Every day you keep your secrets, he’s winning. Sebastian won’t think less of you. If anything, he’ll be angry that he didn’t know, that he hadn’t been able to help.”

  Panicked, she leaned forward. “Don’t you see? I saved him. If I told Sebastian and if he tried to help, Richard would have ruined him. Nicholas too.” She shuddered to think of what would have happened to Nicholas and his bride, Emmaline.

  “I think you’re wrong to keep this from him. I think it eats at you every day that you hide it from your brother.”

  “It would hurt me more to tell him.” Not to mention that the humiliation was almost too much to bear. Cla
ire always thought of herself as a strong person, but Richard proved otherwise. Almost immediately upon marrying him he began to bully her. The beatings started a few weeks later and she’d been so shocked that she hadn’t known what to do. Yes, her brothers had been strict, but never had they laid a hand on her in anger.

  Richard had followed through with his threats. She had no doubt that he would have followed through with his threats to Sebastian as well. So she’d kept quiet. They hadn’t traveled to London often. When they did, the threats doubled, but the beatings ceased because he hadn’t wanted others to see her bruises.

  Nathan pulled on her hands again. “Come here, Claire.” He tugged her over to his side and put his arm around her, pressing her head against his shoulder.

  At first she lay there, her muscles tense, her breathing uneven. He ran his hand down her hair. Over and over. The action soothing her until her muscles relaxed.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Such an innocent action, almost brotherly.

  “You’re safe now, Claire,” he whispered against her hair.

  “Wake up, Claire.”

  Claire opened her eyes to find that darkness was falling and her head was snuggly fitted against the warm crook of Nathan’s shoulder. Her mind told her this was highly improper. Her body begged her not to move. Nathan was warm, solid, comforting. Altogether addicting. And that was just with her head leaning against him. What would happen if …

  She sat up, banishing those dangerous thoughts and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I seem to make a habit of sleeping on you.”

  Through the growing shadows she glimpsed the flash of his devastating smile and felt a moment of regret that she couldn’t experience it in the light of day.

  “I don’t mind.” Was it her or did his voice seem rougher, huskier than usual?

  Staggered memories of their conversation came back to her, relieving her of the embarrassing thoughts and leaving her with far more embarrassing thoughts of a different nature. Never before had she told anyone about Richard, and she wasn’t sure how to act now that Nathan knew.

  “We’ve passed the highest point of the mountains and are starting to descend,” Nathan said, interrupting her thoughts. “I thought it would be a good time to stop at the next town.”

  “Of course.” She looked down at her wrinkled gown and tried to smooth the creases. When they didn’t go away, she pressed harder, almost willing them to disappear. Or maybe willing herself to disappear. She rubbed her thumb along a particularly stubborn one but that seemed to make it worse.

  Now more than ever she regretted telling Nathan about Richard. It opened up a vulnerability in her that she didn’t like. And he seemed different around her too. Drat it, and just when she was beginning to like him.

  That thought made her hands pause. Did she like Nathan Ferguson? After everything he’d done to her? Yes, he’d been horrible, but he’d also saved her from once again putting her luggage into the hands of a thief, from highwaymen and he helped sell her jewels. Of course he still hadn’t given her the money from the jewels, which annoyed her.

  And yet, despite it all, she found she did like him. He was funny, irreverent, improper to the extreme and yet altogether kind. Not at all the man society claimed he was. Of course, Richard hadn’t been the man society claimed he had been either.

  “Claire?”

  Nathan had exited the carriage and was holding his hand out to help her down. She placed her hand in his and discovered that receiving help didn’t make her weak or any less of a person.

  Almost immediately a frigid wind whipped around her, wrapping her skirts about her legs and sneaking through the fine weave of her gown. Snowflakes flew past them, stinging her exposed skin. She shivered in the icy air and hugged her arms to her stomach.

  Nathan draped a voluminous cloak around her shoulders, leaving him with only his coat and waistcoat to keep him warm. His scent instantly engulfed her and she inhaled deeply, drawing it into her.

  The main street of the small, quaint town was deserted. Buildings stood haphazardly, leaning into each other and over the street, built in no apparent order with whatever materials they had at hand. Dim lights glowed from a few windows, but for the most part the homes and businesses were dark. Raucous laughter and loud voices drifted from down the street, spilling from one of the few buildings that appeared inhabited.

  Claire sidled closer to Nathan and looked around nervously. She shivered again but wasn’t entirely sure it had to do with the cold. Something didn’t seem right. Usually when a well-sprung coach pulled in, a proprietor was right there anxiously awaiting their business. Even the coachman was looking around uncertainly from his perch in the driver’s seat.

  Nathan glanced at her. Tension radiated off him. Even the snowflakes seemed to sense it for they skipped away.

  A shout arose from the pub. Claire turned toward the sound to find people swarming out of the doors, shouting. Like a school of fish, they turned toward her and Nathan.

  “Bloody hell.” Nathan shoved her back in the coach.

  Claire landed on her hands and knees and scrambled onto the seat to peer out the window. The flickering flames of lighted torches bounced around the once deserted street, casting orange and yellow shadows over the buildings. A loud pop broke through the noise, causing the horses to whinny in terror. Blythe climbed onto the box and took the reins. The carriage jolted forward, racing down the street, tilting one way then the other.

  A cry arose from the crowd. She heard more popping and suddenly realized what the sound meant. The crowd was shooting at them! The blood drained from her head and she clutched the seat. What if they shot Nathan?

  Oh, dear Lord. Never so terrified in her life, she prayed to God to keep Nathan safe.

  He turned the carriage into the line of trees. She feared there wasn’t enough room to fit the wider conveyance but Nathan managed it. The coach bounced along nearly unseating her, but she held tight.

  The moon shone through the skeletal branches of the leafless trees, as snow danced around the carriage. Claire lost sight of the crowd but didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief. Terror kept her in its relentless grip and she strained to hear anything that would tell her what was going on.

  Eventually the horses slowed, their hoofbeats more like plodding. The poor beasts couldn’t keep up such a pace, especially in this cold and deep snow.

  She ventured a look out the window but they were well and truly shrouded by the trees, for there was nothing behind them but the darker shadows of larger tree trunks and the mounds of snow glittering in the moonlight.

  The carriage stopped with a shout from Nathan. Moments later he jumped down from the box and opened the door. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks and nose bright red from the cold, yet he was a sight to behold. Her relief was enormous and she had to stop herself from falling into his arms.

  “They turned away.” He was winded, his great chest heaving with each breath.

  “Wh—” She licked her dry lips. “What was that all about?”

  “Peasant uprisings.”

  Peasant uprisings. Of course. She’d heard of them but never encountered one before. Nor did she want to again.

  “The horses—”

  “They can’t go any farther. I need to let them go. Hopefully they’ll make their way back to town. The peasants won’t harm them. Good horseflesh is expensive and hard to come by.”

  Claire looked about her but there was nothing to see other than endless trees, their limbs covered with snow and more snow falling on them.

  He looked at her and even in the half darkness, with the light of the moon illuminating only part of his face, she glimpsed his concern.

  “What is it? Tell me.”

  “The driver was shot. He’s dead, Claire.”

  She made a sound and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I need to bury him. Will you be all right?”

  She removed her hand and straightened her spine. “Of course I will. Wh
at do you need me to do?”

  “Gather as many branches as you can. The ground is too frozen to dig a hole. We’ll need to bury him under branches.”

  She nodded, sick to her stomach at what they had to do. The poor man. She shook the thought away and turned to her duty, determined to be an asset rather than a drawback to Nathan.

  She returned five times with armfuls of branches, each time dropping them at Nathan’s feet before turning around and heading out to find more. She never ventured far and kept her ears tuned for angry crowds, but Nathan had driven them far into the woods and it was so cold that the peasants surely would have returned to their warm homes by now.

  He released the horses and slapped them on the rump. They plowed through the deep drifts, disappearing into the mists of swirling snow. Claire couldn’t help but think that they were releasing their only chance at rescue.

  Nathan climbed up on the box and hoisted the driver over his shoulder. As he climbed down, the coachman’s arms dangled at his side. Dark blood dripped onto the pristine snow. Did he have family? A wife who would miss him? Children who might grow hungry since they had no father?

  Claire helped Nathan cover the dead driver with the branches until there was a large pile. They stepped back and Claire reached for Nathan’s hand. His fingers were ice cold but he held her hand firmly. They bent their heads and Claire silently said a prayer. After a few moments, Nathan squeezed her fingers and turned to her.

  “There’s a hospice farther up the mountain but we’ll never make it there tonight. A bit up the road we passed a small cabin. The monks have them scattered throughout the mountain to aid those lost in storms. We can stop there until the weather clears.”

  She drew in a deep, frozen breath, then nodded, the despair lightened by the thought that she and Nathan were in this together and working as a team. She wasn’t alone, as she had been in the past. That single thought gave her the hope she needed to square her shoulders. “Let’s go then.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nathan trudged onward, his ears tuned toward town and the rabid crowd that lay within it. God willing, they’d all be sidled up to the bar, drinking their anger away.