Never Dare a Wicked Earl

by Renee Ann Miller

  But he couldn’t prove himself to her, if she built a wall between them. He knocked on the door again.

  The soft patter of feet approached on the other side. The lock snicked and Sophia opened the door. She wore a simple day dress in light blue. Her long dark hair trailed over her shoulders. He recalled how the silken mass had cascaded about his chest and shoulders last night, cocooning him in her clean lemony scent like a sensory aphrodisiac.

  Face unreadable, she walked over to the dressing table and started pinning up her hair.

  “Why are you up so early?” he asked, stepping into the room.

  “I am an early riser. You?”

  Was she upset she’d awoken to find him gone? “I let my business dealings fall to the wayside. I needed to tend to them.”

  Apprehension flashed across her face. “Hayden, I wish you to know my great-uncle does not condone my desire to work. He does not support me monetarily or emotionally in my endeavors.” She took a deep breath. “My inheritance from my father is not paltry, but modest, and I have no grand dowry. And most of my grandfather’s paintings are on loan to museums where I can visit them. They have sentimental value, and I do not want to part with them. Though I live a comfortable life, I am not some heiress if that is what you believe.”

  Most of the women who courted his attention knew he could buy them whatever their hearts desired. It seemed unfathomable that Sophia knew nothing of his wealth. His breweries could barely keep up with the production demanded of them, and the whisky distillery Simon, James Huntington, and he owned turned a substantial profit. “Do you think I care whether you are wealthy?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Sophia, I assure you, your great-uncle’s wealth does not interest me.” He drew in a deep breath and glanced around the room. “I shall have your things moved into my bedchamber.”

  Her eyes widened. A small lump moved in her slender throat. “My numerous house calls to Thomas’s wealthy patients have made me aware that many husbands and wives who are members of the nobility do not share the intimacy of a bedchamber. They have separate rooms. They only share it to . . .” Her cheeks turned pink. “I-I thought we would do the same.”

  A nerve twitched in his jaw. He paced to the window and pivoted around. “From now on you are to share my bed.”

  She nervously wrung her hands. “I think it would be best if we had separate sleeping quarters.”

  “There will be only one bed in this marriage, Sophia,” he repeated. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  “Are you going out?”

  No, he needed to distance himself from her. He wanted her again—the touch of her silky skin against his, the sound of her little gasps, the scent of her aroused body filling his nose. But he needed to take this slow and win not only his wife’s body but her love and good regard. “I intend to take a bath.”

  A cold one. In fact, he might spend the rest of his life bathing in water as frigid as the River Thames if he couldn’t win Sophia’s heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sophia smiled as Hayden draped her navy cape over her shoulders. His hand lingered a fraction longer than necessary on her neck, causing warmth to flood her body.

  How could she make herself immune to someone whose every simple touch made her desire him?

  The physical attraction wasn’t the only obstacle making it difficult to harden her heart against her husband. The first two weeks of her marriage had contained unexpected, yet pleasant revelations. Her suspicions that Hayden partook in a great deal of business proved true. He attended numerous meetings at both his residence and about town, dispelling the notion he was a man of leisure. Yesterday alone, he’d engaged in two meetings in his study. One in the morning with two Algerian gentlemen and another immediately after with a Lord James Huntington.

  Even more startling—he’d dined at home every night, and during the evenings they retired to the drawing room where they read, played cards and chess, or simply conversed. Now they were to take Celia on an open carriage ride to Richmond equipped with warm lap rugs, a heater for their feet, and a hamper from Fortnum and Mason filled with savory and sweet treats.

  His behavior implied he wished their marriage to work, but an uneasiness simmered right below the surface within her. She couldn’t dispel her fear. Hayden had left his first wife. Abandoned her only months after Celia’s birth. Would it happen again? Would he bore of her and seek the companionship of his dissolute friends—members of the privileged class? Was it only a matter of time?

  “Papa, do say Lady Olivia can accompany us to Richmond. Please!” Celia said, drawing Sophia from her thoughts.

  Hayden frowned at the dog sitting before him in the entry hall, while Celia held her breath in anticipation of her father’s reply.

  “Yes,” Sophia said. “Lady Olivia may join us.”

  Celia stretched her hands in the air and danced on the tips of her toes while the dog’s tail tapped a rapid staccato on the marble floor. Hayden’s daughter grabbed the dog’s lead, and Hawthorne opened the door to assist the child into the waiting carriage.

  Hayden arched a dark eyebrow.

  Was he vexed?

  “You, my dear wife, are raining anarchy upon my household.” His lips twitched and he proffered his arm.

  “Admit it.” She placed her hand on his sleeve. “You are fond of Lady Olivia.”

  He made a noncommittal grunt, but a smile lightened his eyes. “Come, my dear, your chariot awaits. Along with one anxious child and an overgrown beast whom I shall instruct to sit on your lap.”

  Once they crossed the bridge and were well into the open spaces of Richmond, they stopped to lower the top of the landau. The cool winter air, along with the excitement of the journey, heightened the color of Celia’s cheeks.

  “Look,” the child exclaimed, pointing at the red brick wall ahead that encompassed Richmond Park. “Papa, do you think we will see any deer today?”

  “I expect we shall.”

  Celia slipped her hands back into her muff and swung her legs back and forth.

  While they traveled through the park, enjoying their hamper full of treats, Sophia listened to Hayden talk with Celia about the red deer and wildlife in the park. No matter what one thought about him, Hayden loved his daughter and was a good father.

  After a leisurely drive through the park, they headed back to Mayfair. Halfway home, Celia’s heavy-lidded eyes fluttered closed and her hand, stroking the dog, stilled.

  Hayden pulled a green woolen blanket out from under the seat and draped it across Celia before patting the dog’s head and feeding it a whole meat tart.

  Sophia laughed softly. “It is obvious you care for that dog.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “You adore her.”

  Grinning, he slipped his glove off, curled his hand around her nape, and brushed his lips against hers. “Later tonight, I’m going to teach you to behave and show more deference to your husband and not argue with him.”

  Images of Hayden and her lying in bed, him buried deep within her, flashed in her mind. Trying to ignore them and the anticipation that grew within her, she shot her husband what she hoped looked like a scolding, disinterested expression.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts. The layers of her clothing hid her hardened nipples, but somehow he knew. Knew her body craved his touch.

  She recalled the first three nights of their marriage when she’d stubbornly ignored his mandate that she share his chamber. He’d entered her room and carried her into his bedroom and whispered seductively his one-bed rule.

  Some nights he’d make love to her, other nights simply hold her in his arms. That seemed even worse—more intimate. She could understand his physical need for release, but the embracing made guarding her heart so much more difficult. It made her believe they could have a life together until they were old and gray, and that loving him wouldn’t leave her vulnerable.

  Hayden settled against the squabs and draped his arm over her shoulders. />
  Trying to ignore the undeniable pleasure his touch gave her, she motioned to the dog. “Celia has become attached to Lady Olivia. She will be heartbroken when your friend returns to London and wishes to retrieve her.”

  “I’m in custody of several of the man’s gambling markers. His debts are the reason he left town. So the matter has been settled in a manner agreeable to both of us. We are now the proud owners of one overgrown, quite costly, salivating Saint Bernard.”

  “Does Celia know?”

  “No, I thought we might tie a bow on Lady Olivia and tell her tonight.”

  “Celia will be ecstatic.” Sophia patted the dog’s head, just as thrilled with the news.

  The carriage pulled up before their town house. Hayden lifted his slumbering daughter and moved to the front door. Lady Olivia followed him like a shadow. He turned and narrowed his eyes at the dog.

  Another soft laugh bubbled up Sophia’s throat. “You fed her a meat pie,” she whispered. “She might follow you for the rest of the day, if not into next week. She might even wish to sleep with you again.”

  He leaned close. “Only one lady sleeps in my bed, and that is you, my dear wife.”

  If only I could believe that would always be true.

  Hawthorne greeted them at the door. The butler looked perturbed. “My lord, a Mr. Charles Camden is here. The gentleman claims to be related to her ladyship. I told him you were out, but he insisted on waiting.”

  Sophia’s heart skipped a beat. Great-Uncle Charles? Here?

  Hayden turned to her. “How lovely, dear. Your great-uncle has come to visit.”

  She forced a smile, wishing her enthusiasm for their guest matched her husband’s. “Where is he, Hawthorne?”

  “In the blue drawing room, madam,” the butler replied.

  A slumbering Celia shifted in Hayden’s arms. “I shall lay Celia down and join you shortly. I look forward to meeting your great-uncle.”

  As Sophia made her way up the stairs to the blue drawing room, she wiped her damp palms on her skirt. The man never visited London. Why was he here?

  At the entrance to the room, she took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  Great-Uncle Charles stood by the mantel. As usual, he wore a severe black suit, white shirt, and black cravat that looked plucked from a century ago. Though his hair was gray, his posture was still brittle and unbending. He peered at her with those cold steely gray eyes of his.

  “Great-Uncle Charles, how are you?” She brushed a kiss on his cheek.

  His nose twitched as if she carried the stench of the Thames on her body. “Sophia, I see you have not used the bleaching cream I sent. You’re still as dark as a gypsy. You were always a stubborn child.”

  She fought the urge to tug the cuffs of her sleeves lower. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “Might I ask what has brought you to London?”

  “I came to see you. I hear you have married. Thank goodness you have given up your foolish whim to become a doctor.”

  “I must correct you, sir. I still hope to be a physician one day.”

  His pale face grew mottled. “It is ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  “Child, it is an unseemly profession for a woman, especially one married to a nobleman.”

  So that was why he was here. She’d done what he’d asked her father to do. Married nobility. And in her great-uncle’s eyes, a scandalous earl was better than no earl at all.

  “I believe my husband will support me.”

  “Then he hasn’t given you his permission to continue with this folly?”

  She swallowed. No, they hadn’t broached the subject. But surely . . .

  “Tell me, Sophia, how did you manage to marry an earl? Is he hard up for money? Is he expecting a dowry?”

  Once again, he made her feel unworthy of anyone’s love or good regard. She wanted to tell him to go, but instead she remained silent. He would find out about the child she carried in time; then his comments would become even more caustic, even more demeaning.

  He waved a hand in the air as if it was of no importance. “However it came about, you are now a member of the nobility. A countess does not tend to the sick. You have gone against my advice and society’s expectations of proper behavior for a woman, but now you must conform and act accordingly. I do not wish you to draw more shame on this family than you already have.”

  “I will not give up my dream to be a physician.”

  * * *

  As Hayden approached the blue drawing room he grinned. Today had gone well. He believed he’d come a bit closer to winning Sophia’s heart. She’d smiled freely at times and when he’d told her about the dog, she’d looked like she wanted to not only kiss the Saint Bernard but him as well. And now her great-uncle was here. How pleased his wife must be to have her only living relative in Town.

  “My lord,” Hawthorne said.

  Hayden pivoted. “Yes?”

  “I have instructed Mrs. Beecham to have one of the maids prepare the green bedchamber, should her ladyship’s uncle be staying.”

  “Ah, splendid.” He clapped the butler on the shoulder. “Bang-up job you’re doing, old boy.”

  The butler blinked. His bony cheeks reddened. “Why . . . why thank you, my lord.”

  “I’m in a fine mood, Hawthorne. Give the staff a raise in their wages.”

  Hawthorne’s eyes widened. “But they received their yearly increase only last month.”

  “Did they?”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Give them another. And don’t forget yourself.”

  The man smiled showing a large amount of teeth. “If that is what you wish, my lord.”

  “I do. Have you instructed someone to bring refreshments to my wife and her great-uncle?”

  “Alice should be here any minute with the tray.”

  “Very good,” Hayden said.

  As Hawthorne strolled away, Hayden could have sworn the stoic butler whistled an Irish jig.

  The sound of Sophia’s great-uncle inside the drawing room drew Hayden’s attention.

  “You must follow society’s rules,” Camden’s snide voice said. “You are a silly, stupid, strong-willed girl with no sense of propriety. I hope your new husband puts you in your place!”

  Hayden fisted his hand. How dare he disparage Sophia? She was beyond intelligent. I’ll strangle the man. Then kill him. Then strangle him again. And what did he mean by “put her in her place”? Did he mean strike her? Did he believe a man should control a woman with his fists? He flung the door open.

  The thin, gray-haired coot turned and smiled at him.

  Sophia’s earlier lighthearted expression no longer remained. Her whole body radiated discomfort. But he would take care of that. No one would hurt his wife, with words or actions, if he could stop them.

  “Sophia,” her great-uncle said in that superior voice of his. “Aren’t you going to introduce his lordship to me?”

  “Hayden, this is my great-uncle Charles Camden. Uncle Charles, my husband, Lord Hayden Westfield.”

  He strode over to Charles Camden and extended his hand.

  Smiling, the old bugger shook it.

  Returning the man’s pleasant expression, Hayden squeezed the man’s fingers so tight, he thought he might snap one of the coot’s bones.

  The smile faded from Camden’s lips. He paled.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Camden. What brings you to our fair city?” A death wish? He released the man’s hand.

  Camden visibly swallowed. “My niece, of course. I haven’t seen her in a terribly long time.”

  The rattling of the tea tray being rolled into the room drew everyone’s attention. Alice set the silver tray on the ottoman.

  “Thank you, Alice,” Sophia said.

  The maid curtsied and left.

  Camden frowned. “Sophia, you should never smile at a servant or thank them. It gives them a sense of complacency.”

  Hayden fought the urge to open the window and t
oss the windbag out and onto his head. “My staff is quite fond of Lady Westfield.”

  The old man tipped his nose up. “But don’t you think, Lord Westfield, servants must be made to feel their employment is precarious at best?”

  “I believe whatever rapport my lady wife decides is best.” Hayden reached for her hand, brought her fingers to his lips, and kissed them.

  Sophia blinked.

  The old man visibly bristled.

  “Please, sit, sir.” Sophia motioned to a chair as she sat. “You take your tea with milk, if I recall.”

  The curmudgeon sat and nodded.

  After pouring the tea, Sophia added a smidgen of milk.

  “Too much!” Camden snapped.

  Hayden growled.

  The man looked at him as did Sophia.

  Hayden coughed. “Forgive me, I fear I have something in my throat.”

  “Tea, Hayden?” Sophia asked.

  “Thank you, but no, dearest.”

  Without pouring herself a cup, Sophia leaned back, shoulders ramrod straight as though she feared if she didn’t the man would crack a ruler over her knuckles.

  Had he struck her when she was a child? The bastard!

  “I wonder, Westfield, if we might talk in private about Sophia’s dowry.”

  His wife’s puzzled gaze jerked to the old man. She stood. “I shall leave you both to your discussion.”

  Hayden rose, showing proper respect. The old man remained seated.

  “Great-Uncle,” Sophia said, “you are more than welcome to stay with us while in London.”

  The man finally stood and set his cup down. “I would be delighted.”

  As soon as Sophia walked out of the room, Hayden set a heavy hand on Camden’s shoulder. “Listen here, you old goat, you can keep your bloody dowry.”

  Camden’s eyes bulged. “W-what?”

  “You heard me. And don’t you ever call my wife stupid.”

  “I-I didn’t.”

  “You did. And if it ever happens again, I will take the most inordinate pleasure in trying to ruin you. Do I make myself clear?”