A Wicked Way to Win an Earl

by Anna Bradley

  “But why, Alec? Please tell me this isn’t that foolishness about the scandal over her mother. It was ages ago! It hardly matters now, does it?”

  Alec didn’t answer right away, but looked down at the statue in his hands for a moment. “I thought it did, at first. But no. You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I wondered why you made such an effort to keep Robyn and Delia apart when she first arrived,” Eleanor said. “You were trying to discourage a romance between them, weren’t you?”

  Eleanor hadn’t missed a thing, it seemed. “That was how it started, yes, and now I’ve been caught in my own trap.” For one moment he felt an absurd urge to laugh. What perfect irony! Justice wasn’t so fickle, after all, was she? She was a cruel, lying shrew, but she wasn’t fickle. She’d dealt out an appropriate punishment.

  “I can think of far worse fates than being caught in the parson’s mousetrap with Delia,” Eleanor said, “especially since you’re hopelessly in love with her.”

  Was that it? Was he in love with Delia? Is this what love felt like? Christ. It was awful. Hopeless seemed a good word for it.

  “I’m not the only one who fell into the trap, Eleanor.” He ran a weary hand across his eyes. God, he was tired. He couldn’t recall ever being this tired before. “Robyn did, too.”

  Eleanor considered that for a moment. “I’m not sure that’s true,” she said at last. “Robyn is difficult to read. But even if it’s true, Delia doesn’t love Robyn. She’s in love with you, Alec.”

  For one joyful moment Alec thought his heart would soar of out his chest, but in the next it was as if a cold hand had reached inside him, grabbed his heart in a fist, and squeezed it until it dropped like a lead ball into his stomach. “It doesn’t matter.” He struggled to force the words past his numb lips. “It doesn’t matter if she loves me or not.”

  Eleanor stared at him. “How can it not matter? Alec—”

  “What if Robyn is in love with her, Eleanor? Do you think I would rival my own brother?”

  “Alec,” Eleanor began gently. “I know you and Robyn have had a difficult time of it since Father died, but he wouldn’t want to see you unhappy. You haven’t done anything wrong. You fell in love. That’s all. He would never try and stand between you and the woman you love.”

  “But I would. I did. I tried to stand between them.” He refused to allow Eleanor to excuse his behavior. “I objected to Delia from the first and I made no secret of it to Robyn. I did everything I could think of to keep them apart, and all the while I pursued her myself. I didn’t know I was pursuing her at first, but that hardly matters. I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to take for myself what I did my damndest to keep Robyn from having.”

  “Delia isn’t some child’s toy you and Robyn are squabbling over, Alec. This is about your future happiness.” Eleanor stopped when she saw Alec was unmoved by her speech. “I have no wish to see Robyn suffer, but he’ll get over it,” Eleanor whispered. She’d begun to look a little desperate when Alec still appeared unconvinced. “Eventually he’ll forgive you.”

  “But I would never forgive myself. So there’s an end to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Alec stood at the top of the line and waited for Lady Lisette to call the dance.

  He glanced out across the ballroom. The guests whirled around the floor, their faces aglow with pleasure. In another half hour the party would adjourn to supper, where a sumptuous feast awaited them.

  In short, the ball was a great success.

  All was as it should be. Everything was back in its proper place, just the way Alec wanted it. The musicians raised their instruments and began to play.

  Another country dance. Christ. He was about to go mad.

  He’d told himself he wouldn’t look for Delia tonight, but he saw her the second she stepped into the ballroom, her arm linked with Eleanor’s. After that it was as if she were the only person in the room he could see, and she was everywhere at once, dazzling in her pale blue gown. She danced and she laughed and Alec’s heart lurched in his chest each time her honey-colored hair caught the candlelight or she smiled at one of her many partners.

  He glanced down at the woman in his arms. Lisette looked lovely tonight. She wore a very pale green silk gown. The color suited her. Small diamond pins were scattered throughout her sleek dark hair and more diamonds encircled her neck. She glittered.

  He looked at her and felt nothing.

  He must be disguising it well, however, because he could tell by the arrogant tilt of her head that Lisette was enjoying herself. So, she was satisfied with his assiduous attention this evening. He supposed it was her due. No doubt she’d expected a greater degree of devotion from him than he’d shown her since she arrived. She’d be far less satisfied if she knew the truth. Even as he bowed and smiled and fetched glasses of lemonade for her, he was exhaustively, obsessively aware of Delia Somerset.

  “. . . attending the Ashtons’ ball next week?” Lady Lisette asked. “I had thought to decline, but if the Sutherlands will be in town by then, perhaps I will . . .”

  Would she never cease prattling? Alec settled his gaze on her endlessly moving lips. It was odd her lips didn’t move him to any emotion other than irritation. He’d once thought them rather pretty. Now his only thought was they weren’t the full, indescribably soft lips of such a rosy, perfect pink just thinking of them was enough to send him to his knees in the middle of the ballroom.

  “The Ashtons are not quite the thing, of course, but . . .”

  He nodded at Lady Lisette, as if he were listening to her prattle.

  But it wasn’t their softness or even their delicious pink color that made Delia’s lips so tantalizing. No, it was her shy but eager response, her soft sighs as his tongue swept against the warm curves of her mouth. Her lips opened so sweetly under his, shattering his fragile control into a thousand tiny shards at his feet.

  “. . . settled, then. You will call on me in London and our families will attend the ball together.”

  Alec looked at Lisette blankly. What was she nattering on about? What ball? An image rose in his mind of himself partnering Lady Lisette through the figures of one country dance after another.

  He just managed to suppress a shudder. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I have another engagement that evening . . .” He looked over Lisette’s shoulder, searching for the pale blue gown. His eyes wandered over the ballroom, but he didn’t see Delia.

  “Miss Somerset has made herself conspicuous tonight,” Lady Lisette said suddenly, her tone waspish. Alec glanced down at her to find her regarding him with narrowed eyes. An angry flush stained her cheeks.

  “Has she?” Envy had an unattractive effect on Lisette’s complexion.

  “Yes,” she snapped, gratified to have caught his full attention at last. “Mamma says it’s unconscionable, the fuss that’s made over her.”

  “Does she really?” Alec drawled. He was a gentleman, so he resisted the urge to tell Lisette when she quoted her mamma, she also began to look like her. But he couldn’t quite escape the irony of it. How unpleasant to find he’d ever shared the same sentiments as an old dragon like Lady Cecil.

  Lisette’s mouth was a tight, petulant line. “Mamma says Miss Somerset’s mother was a disgrace.”

  “Was she, now?” Alec asked idly, masking the hot rage that surged through him at her words. Was this what he wanted? A lifetime of listening to Lisette repeat every foolish word her mamma uttered while he silently, endlessly obsessed over the taste of Delia Somerset’s lips?

  Lisette, encouraged by his responses, began to warm to her subject. “Robyn seems to be utterly taken in by her. I do hope he isn’t fool enough to marry her. I don’t desire her as a sister-in-law.” Too late she realized what she’d said. Her face turned a mottled shade of red. “That is, I mean—”

  “You look quite flushed, L
isette.” Alec’s voice was cold. “Perhaps you’ve danced too much this evening. I’ll escort you back to your mother.”

  “No, indeed, I’m not fatigued—”

  But Alec was. He was fatigued down to his soul. He was sick to death of Lady Lisette and her mother, with their cruelty and petty jealousy. It was all a farce. There was no way he could marry this woman.

  The dance had not yet ended, but Alec took Lisette’s arm and escorted her to the side of the ballroom. Before she could utter another word, he’d deposited her with her mother, who looked none too pleased to receive her.

  Alec was pleased, however—as pleased as any man who has successfully dodged a bullet aimed at his heart.

  * * *

  As soon as she’d entered the ballroom earlier, she’d caught herself searching for a familiar dark head that towered over the rest of the party. She’d found him at once, by the massive oak fireplace at one end of the room, standing a little apart from the milling crowd.

  He stood with Lady Lisette, who looked ravishing in an extravagantly trimmed ice green silk gown with a diamond choker around her slender neck. She smiled coquettishly up into his face, one possessive hand on his arm. His dark head was bent toward her, and an amused smile tugged at one corner of his sensuous mouth.

  Delia’s breath caught painfully in her throat, and she turned away. God help her, but she couldn’t stand to watch them together.

  She’d spent most of the day trying not to think about Alec, but he hovered always on the edge of her mind, ready to creep into her thoughts when she least expected it. One minute she was brushing her hair and the next he was there, his hands threading through the long locks, his tongue making teasing forays into her mouth, and his firm lips nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck. And again, as she walked down the hallway, he’d appear as if he’d materialized from the shadows themselves, laughing softly and pressing his hard, warm body into hers, whispering that her lips tasted like honey and cream.

  “Delia?”

  For one second Delia thought she’d conjured Alec with her heated imaginings, but when she opened her eyes, Robyn was there, staring at her curiously. How many times had he said her name?

  “You look lovely tonight.” His eyes moved over her with warm appreciation.

  “And you are very dashing, Robyn.” Delia smoothed her hands nervously down the floating skirts of the exquisite sky blue silk gown. Eleanor had insisted she borrow it. She’d said the gown wanted fair skin and blue eyes.

  It was simply cut with a fine, sheer white overskirt that drifted like a cloud over the sky blue silk. The deep neckline was trimmed with tiny flowers and birds embroidered in silver thread. The same thread trimmed the elegant puffed sleeves, and the dainty little birds were scattered across the floating skirt of the gown and flew gracefully around the hem. It was exquisite. Delia had accepted it from Eleanor with tears in her eyes. Maybe tonight, just for one night, she’d feel like she belonged here.

  “Are you too warm?” Robyn asked. “You look flushed.”

  Delia raised her hands to her heated cheeks. “Too much dancing, I suppose. But I’m so happy to see you, Robyn. Indeed, I’ve wanted to speak with you all day.”

  “Have you really? How gratifying.” Robyn gave her a teasing, open grin, not quite able to hide the touch of masculine satisfaction in his voice. “Then you’ll allow me to take you for a turn in the garden?”

  “Of course.” She laid a hand on his arm, in part to hide her shaking fingers. She wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but she owed Robyn an explanation.

  “Did you want to talk about London? I can’t wait to escort you to the theater, and the parks alone will keep us busy for—”

  Delia interrupted him. “I do want to talk about London, but not about the theater or the parks. Robyn, I . . .” Delia started to trail off, but she cleared her throat and began again, determined to get the words out. “I’m not going to accompany the family to London. I’m traveling back to Surrey tomorrow.”

  Robyn looked at her without speaking for a long moment, baffled. “But why?”

  Delia sighed. “My younger sisters need me. You can have no idea how much mischief three young ladies can get into.” She attempted a smile.

  “Perhaps Lily . . .” Robyn began, though to his credit he looked half-ashamed of himself even as the words left his mouth.

  “No. No. Lily will get much more pleasure out of seeing London than I ever could.”

  “But I’m sure you would get pleasure from it.” Robyn stopped walking, turned to face her, and took both of her hands in his. “I’ll see to it personally.” He looked meaningfully into her eyes.

  It was an effort for Delia to keep from closing them against his hopeful expression. This conversation was proving to be much harder than she’d thought it would be, especially with his expressive dark eyes fixed on her. “I know you would, Robyn and that’s one reason I can’t come with you. I have . . .” She hesitated awkwardly. “I’ve taken up too much of your time already.” She looked down at her slippers and prayed he’d understand what she meant without her having to say anything more.

  But her hopes were immediately dashed. He bent toward her and tried to catch her eyes with his own. “But I enjoy spending time with you, Delia. I enjoy it more than I’ve enjoyed anything in quite some time.”

  A sob threatened and Delia bit her lip to push it back. “You’ve been kind to me.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. “That’s why I treasure your friendship so. I consider you a dear friend, Robyn.”

  There was a short pause, and then all at once Robyn seemed to understand her. “Ah.” That was all he said, for quite a long time.

  Delia followed him silently through the garden. Funny, she’d never noticed the way the lanterns drew the moths. They hovered around the glowing light, but they were silent, as well, with none of the fluttering and flapping one often heard with moths. The only sound was the soft crunch of her slippers and Robyn’s boots against the crushed rock of the pathway.

  “That’s it, then,” Robyn said at last. “I suppose there’s nothing more to say, is there?” He turned to look at her and his face softened at what she imagined was her stricken expression. “My heart is not yet engaged, Delia, but it may soon have been. Would have been, I think, had you accompanied us to London. So it’s best this way.”

  Delia felt a sob rise again at his gentleness. “Oh, Robyn. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  He shrugged, but Delia could see the effort it took for him to appear nonchalant. “But I’m not, because I consider you my friend, too. As to the other.” He smiled at her with some of his old playfulness. “Well, I’m notoriously inconstant. Perhaps I’ll fall in love and marry this season. My brother would certainly be delighted to see me safely leg-shackled.”

  The last thing Delia wanted to discuss at this particular moment was Alec, so she said only, “Perhaps you will. Would it be such an awful thing to fall truly in love?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer. Maybe Robyn could offer some priceless masculine insights into the confusing topic of love.

  But he only chuckled. “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Neither have I.” She felt an absurd urge to laugh, though it wasn’t at all funny, for she should know, as madly in love with Alec as she was. Instead she knew less about love now than she ever had, despite falling headlong into it.

  “It’s a question for the ages,” Robyn said with mock seriousness. He turned to walk back toward the ballroom. “Certainly not one to be attempted at a ball, especially before supper.”

  They had nearly reached the terrace when Delia saw him. Alec. Her heart lurched in her chest. He stood on the terrace, his eyes locked on her face, his expression inscrutable.

  “Miss Somerset.” Alec grasped her firmly by the elbow. “A word, if you would.”

  “I don’t think so�
��” she began. She tried to tug her elbow from his grasp.

  Alec refused to release her. “Please, Delia,” he said in a low tone. “I leave for London tomorrow. I must speak with you before I go.”

  Robyn looked from one to the other of them, his eyes narrowed. “Delia?”

  She glanced at Robyn and nodded briefly. He gave Alec a long, searching look, but then he bowed to Delia and disappeared into the ballroom.

  “Very well.” She allowed Alec to escort her back into the garden. “For a moment only,” she added when he didn’t stop on the terrace, but tugged her along with him into a darker, more private part of the garden.

  Once they were shielded from the guests on the terrace, he released her arm abruptly, as if her skin burned him. He gazed at her for a moment, but then turned away without a word, running a hand roughly through his hair. Delia waited for him to speak, but when at last he faced her, he looked so tormented she felt her calm desert her.

  A shocked little cry escaped her lips. “Alec?”

  Alec stepped toward her and grasped her shoulders in his strong hands. “Delia, the conversation you overheard the other day,” he began in a rush. “I have to explain—”

  But she was already trying to squirm out of his grasp. “No, Alec! I don’t want to hear an explanation.”

  Alec’s hands tightened. “But you will. I know you would never agree to be any man’s mistress. I never thought it of you. I never could think it.”

  “You must have done, Alec. Why else would you suggest such a thing to Robyn?”

  “I suggested it to Robyn to hear him deny it. I hoped he’d deeply resent the suggestion.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and dragged them down his face. “Robyn has spent most of this year carousing through London with a wild group of young noblemen. I had heard rumors he . . .” He stopped. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I heard. It doesn’t bear repeating.”