Earl of Wainthorpe

by Cameron, Collette

  Sudden heat encompassed her from the scorching stare he leveled her, dampening her palms and underarms. She hadn’t bothered with a fan this evening, either. Was it possible to melt from a man’s gaze? For she was nigh on to dissolving in her chair.

  “Let’s share a few things about ourselves, shall we? I’ll go first.” He scratched his cheek, in an almost bashful gesture. That unexpected vulnerability made her curious even as it snared her tighter in his entrancing web.

  “All right, though I assure you, my life isn’t nearly as colorful or as shocking as yours.” Bianca could have bitten her loose tongue off for venturing into that particular arena.

  Pierce merely skewed his mouth into a tolerant little half-smile. “As you know, I have three older sisters.”

  “Yes, the interfering trio.” Bianca chuckled. She would have adored having a sister or a brother.

  “Precisely,” he agreed. “I also have eleven nieces and nephews, and unless I’m off my mark, Amanda is breeding again.” He gave her a closed-mouth smile. “I’m particularly fond of children.”

  Another mark in his favor.

  “I was born in India, inherited my title when I was eight, and I have several cousins who’d just as soon I hadn’t. My closest friends are the Duke of Sutcliffe, the Earls of Pembroke and Benton, and Halverstone’s nearest neighbor whom you met today, the Duke of Dandridge.”

  Bianca suspected he rarely shared in this manner. Surely that he did lent credence to his declaration that morning.

  “I prefer sweetened coffee to tea, smoke an occasional cheroot, and have sworn off any spirit stronger than claret.” A self-castigating grimace accompanied that disclosure. “I cannot abide pheasant, goose, or clams, but I have a fondness for rice pudding. It reminds me of a favorite Indian dessert, payasam, my mother used to make. And most of the scandalous chatter you’ve heard about me is a calculated facade I’ve contrived and propagated purely to shock the ton.”

  It was?

  A slow, elated smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and giddiness fluttered about her breastbone. Why did that make her inordinately pleased?

  “How did your mother die?” Bianca blurted the question that had beleaguered her thoughts all day and immediately regretted her lack of control.

  Pierce’s smile faded, and he regarded her with that blank expression his friends teased him about.

  Botheration.

  Now was not the time for her usual directness. Remorse jabbed where happiness had frolicked but moments ago. She’d ruined the moment. Possibly the evening as well.

  “I ought not to have asked, Pierce. It’s none of my concern. Please forgive me.”

  A flicker of something, resignation perhaps, gleamed around his irises, and he rubbed his fingers across his forehead.

  “To put it as succinctly as possible, she was killed during a Munda uprising. Which she not only sympathized with, but unbeknownst to my father, aided in the plotting. Your cousin was Captain Normand then, and a soldier in the troops sent to subdue the rebels. My mother tried to shoot him when our house was raided. An informant had outed her.” Ragged emotion deepened his melodic baritone.

  His tortured expression and raspy voice nearly undid her. Why couldn’t she control her confounded tongue? Now he was reliving the horror, thanks to her.

  “I’m so sorry.” On her lap, the serviette, now fisted into a ball, suffered from her remorse.

  Pierce had become so caught up in his recollection, he didn’t seem to hear her.

  “They wrestled for the gun. I tried to help by biting his hand. Somewhere in the midst of the struggle the blunderbuss fired. I had one of Normand’s—Fairfax’s—hands clamped between my teeth. He clubbed me with the pistol’s butt, giving me this.” Pierce pointed to the scar above his right temple. “When I awoke, I found my mother. Dying.”

  “Oh, Pierce.” Tears pooled, blurring Bianca’s vision.

  He peered across the room, lost in the painful memory. “I didn’t realize at first that she’d been shot in the side. I’ve wondered ever since if my attacking Normand caused the gun to fire.” He glanced up and the desolation in his ebony eyes raked Bianca’s heart raw.

  “Am I as much to blame for my mother’s death as Fairfax?”

  “No, Pierce. No, of course you aren’t.” Bianca swallowed the constriction in her throat. She could imagine the guilt that must have plagued him all these years. “You were but a child trying to protect her.”

  Such a flood of sympathy for the little boy who’d seen his mother die and the man who yet blamed himself for her death overwhelmed Bianca; it was all she could do not to succumb to tears.

  I shall not cry, she repeated over and over in her head.

  Purring loudly, her tail a proud rudder in the air, Miss Millie wandered into the dining room and made straight for Pierce.

  Bianca seized the opportunity to compose herself. She took a sip of wine and breathed in several steadying breaths.

  Making little chirrup sounds, Miss Millie disappeared under the table, no doubt rubbing her scent on his feet and calves. That cat was white-whiskers-over-mottled-tail besotted.

  “Miss Millie is quite enamored of you,” Bianca remarked, grateful for the distraction.

  “It’s embarrassing, how much so.” Pierce appeared as relieved as she to have the subject changed. Having restored his emotions to their usual stoic state, he peeked beneath the tablecloth. “I expect to find her curled up in my study or on my bed with several wriggling kittens any day now.”

  A moment later, Bianca smiled as Digby placed a bowl of soup before her.

  Pierce dipped his spoon into the creamed leek and potato soup. “She follows me into my bedchamber every night, and then proceeds to make herself comfortable at the foot of my bed where a thorough grooming session commences.”

  His bed?

  A suspicion formed, so improbable, Bianca could hardly fathom it.

  No, it wasn’t conceivable.

  She’d given Mrs. Digby the key herself, and more than once over the past several days, she’d tested the handle of the connecting door. Locked tight every time.

  But wasn’t it possible Pierce possessed another key?

  Well, of course it was. Not only possible, but probable.

  For juniper’s sake, why hadn’t Bianca thought of that before?

  Had Pierce entered her room while she slumbered?

  Had he kissed her?

  Why did the notion thrill rather than miff?

  He took a sip of wine. “You don’t like the soup?”

  “No. I mean yes, it’s delicious.”

  Spooning the creamy mixture into her mouth, Bianca scrutinized his face. She couldn’t detect any sign of guilt.

  He winced, then flicked a finger at Digby. “Would you mind taking Miss Millie to the kitchen? She’s decided my calf makes an ideal claw sharpener. Which is why she isn’t permitted to sleep atop my bed. My legs would look like giant pin cushions.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  His expression unreadable, Digby lifted the very pregnant cat into his arms. Eyes half-closed, she gazed up at him, her rumblings undisturbed. Before he made the dining room entrance, the servant sneezed thrice.

  “Poor man,” Bianca said. “He shouldn’t carry her about. I think he has a metabolic intolerance for cats.”

  “Perhaps, but Digby spoils her as much as his wife. I caught him calling Miss Millie Pretty Puss this morning while feeding her a chicken leg and petting her.”

  Setting her spoon down, Bianca cocked her head, listening for Digby’s heavy tread down the corridor to the kitchen. When it faded, she pointed her finger at Pierce.

  “You’ve been entering my chamber whilst I sleep, haven’t you?”

  Spoon half-raised to his mouth, Pierce glanced upward. “Ah, that.” He lifted a shoulder.

  “You cry out in your sleep sometimes. You mumble quite a lot, too.”

  “Balderdash. I most certainly do not,” she denied.

  No one had
ever mentioned such things to her. But then again, who would have heard her? True, she endured nightmares as a child because of the awful things she’d seen and heard through the window in that too-small room of her childhood home. But she had long since stopped suffering from them. Hadn’t she?

  Truth to tell, while under the same roof as Bertram, most nights sleep hadn’t come easily. She’d often awaken, her heart hammering and fear squeezing her lungs.

  Pierce took a sip of soup, not the least concerned he’d been found out. “How do you know, my sweet? You’re asleep.”

  He had her there. Nonetheless, he’d overstepped the bounds by entering her bedchamber.

  And if he’d kissed her, then he’d lost their bet. Only how could she prove it?

  “You make the cutest little snuffling noises, too.” He was obviously enjoying himself at the expense of her composure.

  She gaped before collecting her wits. He’d find his head on the receiving end of a salt shaker should he utter another ungentlemanly word on the subject.

  “Well, you probably snore like a rhino,” Bianca finally retorted. Not so much as a grunt had carried to her chamber from his side of the wall during the night.

  “There’s one way for you to find out for certain, Bianca, isn’t there?”

  “And what would that be?”

  He gave her a devilish wink and a chuckle so seductive, gooseflesh raised up from her neck to her waist.

  “Marry me and share my bed.”

  Temptation wasn’t just knocking. It had seized a battering ram to destroy her defenses. Did Pierce jest, or was his rejoinder a backhanded way of asking her again?

  She sent a swift glance toward the kitchen entrance. No Digby yet. She might as well ask. “Is that another proposal?”

  Instead of answering, Pierce trailed his intense gaze over her face, down the length of her neck, across her shoulders, then dipped to her cleavage swelling above her bodice before meeting her eyes once more. Every single place he’d touched with his eyes tingled as if he’d caressed her with his fingertips.

  Hands flat on the table on either side of her plate, she leaned forward and whispered, “Surely you know the scandal that would ensue if you were found out, Pierce. I’d be compromised beyond redemption.”

  “I’ve considered that. But my staff knows I demand their loyalty and their discretion.” Lounging against his chair, his long fingers encircling his wine glass, the signet ring on his little finger glowing from the candlelight, he murmured, “Besides, Bianca, I do care for your repute. I’ve been most fastidious to ensure I am not discovered.”

  Bianca raised a doubtful brow and took a long drink of her wine, her nerves so strained, an entire bottle wouldn’t calm the prickly sensation. Annoyance wasn’t what was making her so on edge either. Her lurid imagination kept meandering to what he’d looked like abed, all disheveled manly virility, and then to his provocative comment about sharing that very same bed.

  She always did have an overly vivid imagination.

  Think of something else. Anything else.

  Miss Millie. Yes.

  Mention of the cat ought to wipe that sexy, thought-jumbling smile off his face.

  For all of his confidence, Pierce hadn’t been careful enough. “You needn’t look so smug. You’ve overlooked one very important detail during your nocturnal sojourns.”

  He set his glass down, a crease over the bridge of his nose drawing his striking brows together. “I don’t believe I have.”

  “Oh, but you have. Every time you’ve hurled propriety aside and entered my chamber unbeknownst to me, Miss Millie sneaked in. I’d find her on my bed the next morning, using my legs for a pin cushion.”

  “She did?” That gave him pause, and he slanted his attention to the empty doorway through which she’d been carried. “Why, the little vixen.”

  At his utterly confounded expression, Bianca laughed. Where was the exasperation she ought to be feeling? “You should see yourself. You had no idea?”

  “None. I thought she was asleep under my bed.”

  He gave her a lopsided, apologetic smile, and her heart flopped about, the dratted weak, gullible organ.

  “Popplewell fashioned a cozy box with a blanket for her,” Pierce said. “Sneaky girl. She knows I won’t permit her on my mattress, so she creeps into your room when I open the door.” Contriteness accented the lines at the outer corners of his eyes. “I was but concerned for you, Bianca. It’s only happened … What? Four …? Five times?”

  “Try twelve.” A dozen times he’d crept into her room and observed her sleeping.

  Shouldn’t she be shaking in outrage?

  Bianca was quite certain this bewildering sensation pummeling her wasn’t anything of the sort.

  “Twelve? That many?” The planes of his face stood out starkly in concern. “The first time, you sounded so frightened, I feared Fairfax had somehow found his way inside the house. You calmed as soon as I promised to keep you safe.”

  And kissed her too?

  He gazed upon her with such tenderness, she couldn’t quite muster the indignation she should, nor the bravado to accuse him of that offense as well. Even now, knowing Pierce had intruded while she slumbered, gratitude filled her more than anything else.

  “I fear your secret might well be out, Pierce. Elsie knows about Miss Millie’s mysterious appearances. Since she’s checked my chamber a good number of times to locate the clever puss’s secret entrance, and found nothing, it won’t take her long to figure out the obvious truth.”

  He’d not responded to her earlier remark about a proposal yet.

  Had he changed his mind already?

  A brazen impulse gripped her. “I suppose there’s only one way to salvage my good name now, isn’t there?”

  Footsteps echoed in the passageway and moments later, Digby appeared with the fish, putting the conversation to a premature end. Much to Bianca’s consternation, Pierce didn’t broach the subject again, and though the rest of the meal passed in amiable conversation, regret shrouded her.

  Nearly an hour later, after he coaxed almost every detail about her life from her, Bianca took a last bite of her cranachan. “I ate every speck, and I do believe it’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Mrs. Digby will be well-pleased. I agree, it was scrumptious.” Pierce tossed his serviette aside and rose. “I hope to talk you into a stroll through the gardens.”

  Overly-full and more of a mind to find her bed and weep into her pillow than to engage in exercise of any kind, Bianca glanced at the drape-covered windows. Nightfall had occurred some time ago. “But surely it’s dark as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat out there.”

  That rapscallion half-grin she couldn’t resist appeared.

  “Yes, but I have another surprise for you.”

  She’d never much cared for surprises and this evening had abounded with them. But then again, most of those she’d experienced prior to tonight had led to heartache of some sort. Except Luna, of course.

  Pierce angled his head toward the dining room entrance, and Digby signaled to someone outside, then left the room.

  “I’ve asked Elsie to fetch your new shawl,” Pierce said, as he pulled Bianca’s chair out. “I promise, if it’s too cold, we won’t stay outdoors very long.”

  How could she resist?

  His eyes all but danced with his merry secret.

  “All right, but I cannot imagine what there is to see in that blackness.” Waving her hand, she indicated the stark tobacco-brown festooned windows.

  Joy lit his face, and he extended his elbow. “You shall see. And I think you’ll be pleased. I hope you will be.”

  Little boy vulnerability softened the planes of Pierce’s angular features. He would never admit it, but he longed for approval and acceptance. For unconditional love. He had hers, if only she dared tell him.

  In the entry, Elsie helped wrap the shawl around Bianca’s shoulders, and the maid and Pierce exchanged conspiratorial glances.

 
; So, Elsie was in on whatever his scheme was. That explained why she suggested the bath, nap, and fragrant tea, and then took her sweet time in dressing Bianca and styling her hair.

  “We’ll exit through my study since it opens onto the back terrace.” Pierce took Bianca’s elbow again, leading her down the passageway. Boyish excitement etched his features, and her resolve slipped further.

  This attentive, caring rogue captivated her heart, and she was defenseless against him.

  Once in the study, he guided her to the closed draperies.

  “Now, I need you to trust me, Bianca. Close your eyes, and keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”

  She dutifully shut her eyelids. What in the world could there be to see? Except perhaps as Halverstone was in the northern country, the night sky was especially clear, and they might see a few constellations. Or rarely, the northern lights.

  Yes, that must be it.

  A draft brushed her face as the draperies whisked open. The door latch gave way with a soft click, and a stronger, much cooler breeze buffeted her. Bianca shivered, grateful for the wrap. Good thing Pierce thought to ask for her shawl.

  He snaked one arm around her waist and cupped her elbow with his other hand. “Keep your eyes closed,” he murmured near her ear.

  Forever, if he kept his arm about her.

  She inhaled his intoxicating cologne and trembled again.

  “Bianca, I’m going to lead you onto the verandah now. Mind your first step over the threshold.”

  Laughing, she said, “It’s a good thing I trust you.”

  She did trust him. Unreservedly. And more. Much more.

  God above, she did adore him. Even loved his rakishness and his thumbing his nose at society. Only an utter fool would turn down his proposal, and a vice squeezed her heart until she almost gasped from the anguish.

  Oh, to be able to take back those rash words. The horrible accusations. The wounds her termagant’s tongue inflicted.

  A moment later, she stepped onto the flagstones, her shoes echoing hollowly. “Can I open my eyes now?”

  “Not just yet.” Pierce spoke into her hair, his breath warming her scalp. Such a simple thing, yet so intimate. He steered her a few more paces, then clasped her shoulders and turned her just so. “Now you may open them, my love.”