Lady Oakland chuckled. “And yet it seems as though the Earl of Woodford has prompted you to feel a great deal.”
“I’ve hurt him, Mama, and I have no idea how to make it right again.”
“Did you try to apologize?”
Chloe winced. “My attempt wasn’t the best.”
Patting Chloe’s hand, Lady Oakland said, “Then perhaps you ought to try again.”
Although she knew her mother was right, the thought of humbling herself before Woodford filled her with apprehension. It was as if her skin was shrinking, leaving no room for her to breathe. “I fear what will happen if I do,” she confessed.
“Because you care for him, Chloe. Perhaps if you faced this truth as bravely as you’ve faced so many other things, everything will become easier.”
“Not if he fails to reciprocate, Mama, and from what he’s said, I fear that he won’t. What use does he have for a woman like me when he can have a desirable debutante instead? Not to mention that he doesn’t want to marry, so the most I could ever hope to be is his mistress, which doesn’t appeal in the least.”
Lady Oakland tilted her head. “When we came here, Chloe, you intended to remain unattached as well. You certainly had no plans of remarrying. But consider what you’ve just said: what use does he have for me when he can marry an innocent debutante instead? Seems to me that he may have prompted you to reconsider, or at the very least regret that he’s unlikely to make you an offer.” Lady Oakland paused before adding, “However, the heart doesn’t always choose to love the person that the mind finds most appropriate. Lord Woodford may surprise you, Chloe, but you’ll only know if you are brave enough to do the right thing.”
Thanking her mother for her sound advice, Chloe decided to go for a walk in the rose garden, seeking peace and quiet so she could contemplate the deep emotions swimming through her, and how far she’d allow them to take her.
Chapter 14
As determined as he was not to let his argument with Lady Newbury irk him, James couldn’t seem stop his thoughts from straying from his work and to the passionate woman who’d captured his heart. It was time he admitted that his interest in her ran deeper than lust, because although he continuously contemplated undressing her, he’d also begun envisioning her in a more permanent role.
Arriving in the interior courtyard, James shook his head. He couldn’t possibly consider marrying Lady Newbury. Could he? Of course not! Not when he considered the promise he’d made to himself long ago—that there could be no marriage as long as he did the work that he did. It was too dangerous.
Dismissing the notion, he looked around until his gaze settled on a nook at the opposite side of the courtyard. It seemed to contain a door that James hadn’t seen before. Was it possible that he’d found what he was looking for? With renewed enthusiasm, he circumvented the central fountain and headed toward it. His hand fell on the handle and the door opened without protest, but instead of finding a staircase leading up, he found one leading down.
Stepping back, he barely managed to turn away from the opening with the intention of pulling the door shut behind him, when a fist struck him squarely in the face. Christ! His back hit the doorframe, spearing his shoulder blade with a sharp pain. Another fist came toward him, but this time he managed to duck. “What the devil are you doing, Scarsdale?” The earl pulled back his arm in preparation for another punch, but before he could put his weight behind it, James launched forward, barreling into him and pushing Scarsdale back. Both lost their balance and fell to the ground with James landing on top of his opponent. Reaching for Scarsdale’s wrists, he caught them in a firm hold, halting another attack.
“Get off of me,” Scarsdale gritted out between heavy breaths. His eyes were wide, his teeth were bared and his face was beetroot red.
Struggling against James’s grip, he tried to pull free, but James had no intention of yielding. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Right about what?”
“You are an Elector, aren’t you, Scarsdale?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scarsdale said, still struggling against James.
Doubt crept in, warning James against saying anything more on the matter. Instead he asked, “Then why do you want to fight me?”
Pure hatred rose from the depths of Scarsdale’s eyes. He stopped trying to move, though the tension within him was visible in his tight breaths. “I’ve invested an entire year, Woodford. Rides in the park, excursions to shops, picnics, tea, musicales, dinner parties, gifts and more attentiveness than any man can muster without losing his mind.”
James frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She was supposed to want me, damn it, not you. You barely even know her and yet you presume that you can simply snatch her away from me without effort?” He started struggling again. “I’ll tear you to bloody pieces first!”
James held on, alerted by the sound of footsteps that someone was approaching at a brisk pace. “You speak of Lady Newbury as if she’s an object whose ownership may be determined by you. As for any interest she may have in me, I can assure you that you are quite mistaken. The lady doesn’t even consider me a friend.”
Scarsdale shook his head as footmen arrived, assisting first James and then Scarsdale, holding both men by their arms until they determined the facts. “Think what you will. I am certainly not going to try and convince you otherwise.”
“What on earth is happening here?” Lady Duncaster asked as she arrived on the scene, her curious eyes shifting back and forth between James and Scarsdale. “My dear, Lord Woodford, that is quite a nasty bruise you’ve acquired. We will have to put something cold on that.” She gave instructions to a nearby maid before addressing James, Scarsdale and the footmen again, her expression similar to that of a disappointed parent. “Come with me.”
They all followed her to a nearby parlor—a small room with two sofas and a couple of armchairs clad in pale green velvet. “Sit,” Lady Duncaster said without preamble, indicating the armchairs while she herself took a seat on the sofa. James and Scarsdale did as directed while the footmen took up positions by the door. “You will tell me what this is about and you will do so without delay. I remind you, gentlemen, that this is a respectable guesthouse and my home. I will not have you tumbling around like ruffians. Is that clear?”
James and Scarsdale both nodded, though not without glowering at each other as they did so. “It seems that Scarsdale is not very fond of me,” James said, turning his attention to Lady Duncaster.
“And why is that?” Lady Duncaster asked Scarsdale. “What could possibly prompt you to attack Woodford while his back was turned?”
“I did no such thing,” Scarsdale clipped.
Lady Duncaster’s eyes remained fixed on Scarsdale. “Will you make a liar of yourself as well, my lord? Her Grace, the Duchess of Pinehurst, saw everything and alerted me. I am inclined to trust her account.”
“Of course you are,” Scarsdale muttered.
Lady Duncaster straightened her spine, which made her grow in height by an astonishing two inches. “Lord Scarsdale, I don’t believe I care for your tone at the moment.” She puffed out a breath, shook her head and got to her feet. James and Scarsdale rose as well. “The truth is that it doesn’t really matter what your reason was for instigating the fight, Scarsdale. I am still expelling you from Thorncliff on the basis of disorderly conduct. You may return to your room in order to pack.”
“My apologies,” Scarsdale said, looking rather grim. “Perhaps if—”
“I expect you to be gone within the hour,” Lady Duncaster said as she turned toward the footmen. “Please escort his lordship upstairs.”
“You cannot speak to me like that,” Scarsdale said. “I am a peer of the realm—an earl!”
Lady Duncaster turned slowly toward him. “Then I would advise that you behave according t
o the manner in which you wish to be treated, my lord. For now, I am turning you out.”
Scarsdale remained as if frozen in place until one of the footmen gestured toward the door. “This isn’t over,” Scarsdale told Woodford as he passed him on the way out. “Not by a long shot.”
“Well, that was rather unpleasant,” Lady Duncaster said as soon as Scarsdale was gone.
“I thought you handled it very well,” James told her.
A maid arrived with a tray on which a cold piece of meat had been placed, wrapped in linen. “For your cheek, my lord,” the maid said, setting the tray on a table.
“Thank you,” Woodford told her.
“Would you like a . . .” Lady Duncaster began, then continued with, “Lady Newbury, do come in. You will not believe the excitement we’ve just had.”
Looking toward the door, James’s heart quickened a little at the sight of Lady Newbury’s pretty green eyes staring back at him with concern. “What happened? I just passed Scarsdale in the hallway. He mentioned something about being treated unfairly and was looking terribly angry.”
“Apparently he decided to quarrel with Woodford whom he caught quite by surprise,” Lady Duncaster said. “My lord, would you like a brandy for the pain?”
“A brandy would be much appreciated,” James told her.
“You’re hurt?” Lady Newbury asked and James turned his head, allowing her to see the right side of his face. Lady Newbury gasped. “Oh dear God! Why would he do such a thing? Do we have something that we can put on it?”
Turning her back, Lady Duncaster prepared the brandy. “There’s a slice of meat on that tray on the table,” she said. “Why don’t you have a seat on the sofa Woodford? I am sure Lady Newbury would be more than happy to help me tend to you.”
James frowned. “I’m not that bad off, not to mention that I really shouldn’t sit unless you do so as well.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lady Duncaster said, returning to where he was standing and handing him his drink. “The sooner we treat that bruise, the quicker it will vanish. Isn’t that right, Lady Newbury?”
“I believe so. Yes.” Lady Newbury did not sound nearly as certain as Lady Duncaster however. But then she looked at him, straight in the eye, and it was impossible for James to avert his gaze. “Please,” she said with a nod toward the sofa.
How could he possibly resist?
“It looks as though you have everything under control,” Lady Duncaster said as soon as Lady Newbury was seated next to James with the meat pressed firmly against his cheek. “I’ll go and see how the rest of my guests are doing.”
“But—” Lady Newbury didn’t manage to get another word out before Lady Duncaster vanished through the door, which she closed on her way out. “Well. That is highly inappropriate. Perhaps I should open the door a little, for the sake of propriety.”
“Leave it,” James told her. He’d closed his eyes and was simply enjoying the soothing cold against his aching jaw and the luxury of not having to hold the meat in place by himself. His legs were stretched out before him and his arm was flung over the armrest as he allowed himself a rare moment of complete relaxation.
“Will you tell me what happened?” Lady Newbury asked him quietly.
“Not now,” he murmured.
Several moments of silence passed before she spoke again. “I was actually looking for you when I found you here with Lady Duncaster.”
“Oh?”
Another pause followed. “I wanted to . . .” Her voice faltered. There was a brief hesitation, and then as if by some inner will, she said, “I believe I owe you an apology, my lord.”
James opened his eyes and adjusted his position just enough to stare at her. This, he had not expected. He’d thought her too proud. Yet here she was, humbling herself and admitting that she’d wronged him. It lifted his spirits and gave him hope. “For what you said to your sister at the ball, or for allowing Scarsdale to kiss you when . . .” He stopped himself, unwilling to admit how jealous he’d been and what such jealousy meant about his feelings for her.
She bit her lip and scrunched her nose. “I should have pushed Scarsdale away the moment I knew his intent, and I should never have told Laura that you and I have nothing in common when I cannot recall ever enjoying another man’s company as much as I enjoy yours.” She looked at him entreatingly, and James’s heart surrendered. “Truth be told, I would be very sorry to lose your friendship. Do you think we might be able to return to the way things were before my silly blunder? Can you forgive me?”
James nodded “I believe so,” he said. “We all make mistakes.” Bringing his hand up, he placed it against her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. “I think you should put the meat back on the plate.”
“But the bruise . . . it needs to heal.”
“And I need to kiss you. Right here. Right now.”
Her lips parted, expressing her surprise. She blinked, and then carefully removed the linen-wrapped meat from his cheek and returned it to the plate on the tray. Not a second after she’d done so, James had his arm around her and was pulling her onto his lap.
“My lord,” she gasped, “you really shouldn’t—”
He silenced her protests with a kiss, his arms holding her firmly in place until she relaxed against him, opened her mouth and invited him in. Heaven! Her arms wound their way around his neck and she kissed him back with fervor.
A purr rose from deep within her throat and he swallowed it with a groan while his hands swept down her sides, touching her contours before climbing back up to settle against the curve of her breasts. She pressed against him while he deepened the kiss, laying claim to her mouth. He knew what she wanted, more so as she settled more firmly against him, her arms tightening around his neck while her bottom wriggled restlessly in his lap.
He could not give her that. Not here in Lady Duncaster’s parlor where anyone might happen upon them at any moment. But he needed something more than just kisses as well—something more binding . . . more confirming of his intentions toward her. So he slid his hand sideways to cup her plump flesh, squeezing her gently at first, then more deliberately the moment she sighed.
“Perhaps we should make arrangements to continue this elsewhere,” he suggested, pulling back so he could gaze into her eyes.
She blinked, reminded suddenly of where they were and just how scandalous they were being. How could she have allowed him to distract her so? “The journal,” she said, sitting up straight and climbing out of his lap. The power he wielded over her—his ability to make her forget her other reason for seeking him out—was almost frightening. She adjusted her gown while he unashamedly watched, which in turn made her blush. The edge of his mouth lifted, his expression softened and his eyes hinted at more tenderness than Chloe had ever felt from any man outside her own family.
Startled by it, she got to her feet. He rose as well and was now watching her with a great deal of curiosity. “I think I may know where the entrance to the attic is,” she said, needing the focus that the search for the journal offered. Her feelings, her nerves, they were far too difficult to untangle now after the kiss they’d just shared.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he asked. There was no censure behind the question, but a great deal of interest.
She shrugged, then caught herself. “Because when I found you, you had just been hurt in a fight with Scarsdale. Lady Duncaster was here as well and then . . .”
“Then what?”
Swallowing her fears, she allowed her gaze to meet his. “She left,” she whispered. He nodded, the intensity of his eyes demanding the truth. “And then you kissed me and I forgot about the journal completely.”
“I understand,” he said, still watching her closely.
“You do?”
“I forgot about it too while we were . . .” he glanced down at the sofa, t
hen looked directly at her once more. “Next time, I intend to get you completely undressed.”
“Next time?” she winced at the squeaky sound of her voice but quite frankly, how was she expected to speak properly considering what Woodford had just told her?
He gave a curt nod, adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and said, “Now then, where do you think the entrance to the attic is located?”
Chloe blinked. His sudden professionalism was impressive. “Spencer has been working on a model replica of Thorncliff for a few weeks now,” she said. “To that end, he has borrowed the blueprints of the house from Lady Duncaster and made copies. Claiming an interest, I asked if I could take a look at them. He had no objections and I soon found the room in which I believe the stairs to the attic must be hidden.”
“And?” Woodford asked, clearly eager to discover the location.
“As far as I can tell, they are in the armory.”
Woodford frowned. “I looked there already but found nothing.”
“Let’s look again,” Chloe suggested. “Together this time. If I am correct, then they should be on the exterior wall close to the window.”
“If you are correct,” Woodford said as he crossed to the door and opened it for her, “we may be able to find out who The Electors are today.” A shiver traced Chloe’s spine as she exited the parlor and waited for Woodford to follow. Knowing the identities of the men responsible for her grandfather’s death was both tempting and terrifying. The danger she courted was real. She knew this. And yet she could not help herself from delving deeper—especially not with a man like Woodford by her side.
Five minutes later, they entered the armory, where a lance-wielding knight dressed in armor sat astride the armor-clad model of a horse. The floor was checkered marble with alternating black and white squares, the coffered ceiling intricately carved, and the wood-paneled walls embellished with moldings displaying a vast collection of swords and firearms. It was a stunning room—a very masculine room.
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