The Wickedest Lord Alive (13 page)

He surprised her by taking her hand and kissing it. “You are so charming, my dear, I am sure I should not wish to.”

The world seemed to stop around them. Her fingers tightened on his. A faint wish that she did not wear gloves flitted through her mind. To feel the hot press of his lips upon her bare skin would be extraordinary.

But then she recalled his offensive words to Lydgate at the assembly and tugged her hand free. “You needn’t empty the butter boat over me, my lord,” she said. “We are already wed, after all.”

A subtle alertness came over him as if he were a hound scenting its quarry. “You are reconciled to my plan, then. You will live with me as my wife.”

“I have no choice, have I?” said Lizzie.

He watched her for some moments, until she lowered her eyes, unable to hold that incisive gaze any longer.

Softly, he said, “How very convenient for you.”

*   *   *

Xavier did not immediately follow when Lizzie stepped away from him and continued onto the small footbridge. He was unaccountably irritated at the tenor of this conversation. He’d allowed himself to show anger when he warned Lizzie off seeking comfort in the arms of another man. The fury he’d felt when he considered the notion surprised and dismayed him.

What shocked him even more were the maudlin words that came out of his mouth when she’d accused him of intending to be unfaithful to her. He must have been unbalanced by their preceding exchange.

He had never, until that moment, even considered pledging fidelity to one woman.

Certainly no woman had ever demanded exclusivity from him. They all knew the score with the libertine Lord Steyne.

The concept of monogamy interested him on an intellectual level. Could he possibly be content with one woman? Could a deep comprehensive liaison with one woman turn out to be better than constant, shallow variety?

It was not as if variety had done much to relieve his general sense of ennui.

But this woman … This girl …

She attracted him so strongly, he was having trouble remembering the rules of polite behavior. Now she stood on the footbridge that arched over a rushing stream, her elbows resting on the rail, hands clasped together. Her slim, tall body angled forward as she looked out over the water. Something in her stance made his thoughts turn hot and carnal.

He was sorely tempted to forget the entire charade of the Harcourt house party and steal her away to the nearest bedchamber to take advantage of his marital rights. Or even to find a convenient barn and make love to her in the hayloft, an expedient to which he had not resorted since he was in his teens.

Xavier moved toward her with a wry twist to his lips. He must not forget his vow of restraint. A young lady of such limited experience could not be thrown over one’s shoulder and carted away to the nearest semiprivate flat surface. She must be coaxed, tantalized, and ultimately seduced.

That would be an exercise of considerable will and patience on his part. But the anticipation would be delicious, heightening the pleasure in the eventual reward.

He did not want Lizzie’s surrender, but her enthusiastic participation. Something sinful and wrong inside him compelled him to corrupt her utterly, take possession of her, body and soul. He wanted her to think of nothing and no one but him and the way his body made hers feel.

She turned at the sound of his boots on the footboards of the bridge. Her green eyes were watchful.

He made a mental note to inspect the gowns he had ordered for her to ensure everything was as it should be. He’d instructed the modiste to add certain items to Lizzie’s trousseau of which she would most likely not approve.

“Why do you smile like that?” Lizzie said.

“I?” he said, surprised. “I never smile.”

“Yes, you did. You smiled just now, in the most wicked way.”

He leaned in to her. “If you must know,” he drawled in her ear, “I was thinking how you would look when I finally get you in my bed.”

“Oh!” She reared back, looking as if she might choke. “You are completely shameless.”

He shrugged. “If you don’t wish to know what I’m thinking, don’t ask.”

He let his regard travel slowly, so slowly, over her body until she blushed bright pink from the tops of her breasts to her hairline. “Do you wish to know what I’m thinking now?”

“No. No, I don’t think that I do.” She turned from him in confusion.

He was amused, for while ladies of his acquaintance often feigned shock at his raking, they never truly felt it. Lizzie, he knew, was agitated and off balance. He considered that a hopeful sign.

“Let us go back,” said Lizzie. “Mr. Allbright will wonder at my absence.”

“He won’t, you know,” said Xavier, but he followed as she headed back across the bridge.

“I trust that you will do your part when we’re at Harcourt,” he said suddenly. “The show of ardor cannot all come from my side.”

She started, but answered. “I shall appear thoroughly charmed, my lord.”

He regarded her with a glimmer of amusement. “Much obliged.”

“You needn’t fear I shall be unconvincing,” she continued. “I am an excellent actress, you know.”

She was very entertaining. “You wound me.”

“I should be desolated to think so.”

He nearly laughed, but restrained himself. They walked on in silence. For the first time since he’d arrived in Little Thurston, his mood lifted a little. His plan would work. Lizzie would be his wife. There would be an heir. And his uncle could give up any hope of succeeding him.

Eventually, Lizzie spoke. “You grew up at the Duke of Montford’s estate, did you not?”

“I often spent holidays at Harcourt as a boy.” When his parents were at war, as was often the case, Montford would swoop in and take him and Rosamund away. He’d said he needed them to entertain their cousins, but Xavier knew better.

He went on. “Later, when my father died, Montford became my guardian and that of my sister, Rosamund. We went to live with him for a time, along with several other children who were the duke’s wards. We call each other cousins, but the truth is that the relationships are rather more distant and complicated than that.”

“Yet you are close,” said Lizzie. “You grew up together.”

There was a wistful note in her voice, and he remembered that she had always been alone. He couldn’t imagine his own childhood without his sister and cousins.

“How many children were there?” said Lizzie. “Will I meet them?”

He rubbed his mouth with the side of his thumb. “There were six of us while I lived at Harcourt, but the numbers fluctuate. I don’t know which Westruthers might be visiting this time.”

He narrowed his eyes. “There’s Lydgate, whom you’ve met, and Beckenham, who has just married. Jane, now Lady Roxdale, came to Montford as a baby, so she was there longer than any of us. There’s my sister, Rosamund, who has married into the deVere family, Heaven preserve us. And Cecily is now Duchess of Ashford, but she is still an incorrigible little minx. You will meet her brother, Lord Davenport, too, no doubt.”

“And they all have families now?”

“All are married, except Lydgate.” He was slightly startled to think of himself joining the ranks of settled Westruthers. His life became almost mundane.

The idea didn’t suit him at all.

They walked on, and Lizzie said, “What has happened to make you suddenly wish to make our union a proper marriage, my lord?”

He ought to have been ready for this question. It was the obvious one to ask, wasn’t it?

And yet the hard ache in his chest made him pause to master himself before he answered. “There were three brothers in my father’s family. My father was the eldest. The middle brother died in a hunting accident, having sired two daughters and then two sons with his second wife.”

He paused and Lizzie said, “So you do have heirs.”

He cleared his throat, an abrupt, loud sound in the peace of the garden. “They died. Recently. Of a fever.”

Even now, the thought of Ned and Charlie wasting away like small ghosts made his throat tight as a drum. They’d been such rough-and-tumble, mischievous boys. To see their small bodies so thin and pale and weak …

“Oh.” The word was but a whisper but it conveyed an ocean of warmth and understanding.

Xavier clenched his jaw. Damn it, he didn’t need her sympathy. He sought some other topic of conversation, but the words jammed in his throat.

“You cared for them,” she said, her voice soft with compassion. Her hand lightly brushed his arm.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. He didn’t need her or Lydgate or anyone probing that wound.

When he finally had command of his vocal cords, he said in a deliberately distant tone, “Now my uncle Bernard, the youngest of my uncles, has become my heir. His son Cyprian is next in line after him.”

“I see,” she said, apparently accepting the implied rebuff. “And that state of affairs is not acceptable to you.”

“It is not.”

He hadn’t intended to go into detail over it, but he sensed the question hovering in the air. “My uncle is a weak, spendthrift gamester and his son is a brainless young fop. A poet, no less. It is my duty to see that they do not ever gain dominion over Steyne lands or its people.”

“I see.”

He hoped she
did
see how vital it was for them to have sons.

Lizzie’s agitation showed in the twist of her hands, the way she chewed on the inside of her lower lip. “
You
are not…” She trailed off and raised her troubled gaze to his face.

“Dying?” He grimaced. “No, dear Lizzie, I am not.”

He was rather touched when she put her hand to her chest and exhaled sharply, as if relieved he was not about to cock up his toes.

“But life is … uncertain,” he continued. “I need to shore up the succession as soon as may be.”

She was blushing now, undoubtedly thinking of how they would go about begetting the highly desirable heir. He was ridiculously impatient to move on to that part, himself. For reasons that had little to do with the succession.

*   *   *

Xavier and Lydgate dined at the Huntleys’ that evening. It was a small party comprising Mr. Huntley, MP, Miss Beauchamp and her brother, Tom, with whom Lydgate seemed to have struck up a friendship at the picnic. Huntley’s mother, a quiet, frail-looking female, fed a snuffling, slobbering pug dog from the table. Lady Tiverton, whom everyone seemed to call Aunt Sadie, completed the party.

Once again, Miss Allbright was not present, having elected to remain at home with the vicar, according to her friend.

Xavier was in a pensive mood, his mind occupied with matters of estate business he needed to address before he left for Harcourt. Unusually for one with his ability to focus, he could not discipline his thoughts. They returned often to Lizzie and to the forthcoming sojourn at Harcourt.

Fortunately, Lydgate always carried the conversation for both of them, never at a loss. His affable, voluble charm more than made up for Xavier’s silences.

Oh, Xavier knew he was not popular in Little Thurston, but he did not care for that. The only person in this village who concerned him was Lizzie Allbright.

He wondered why he’d slid so easily into calling her by that name, rather than the one with which she’d been christened.

Perhaps because it suited her. Lizzie’s sunny demeanor and competent air seemed to fill any space she entered with light. Ever helpful, ever cheerful. One would need to be cynic indeed to question her motives in attending the good people of Little Thurston so assiduously.

But Xavier was nothing if not a cynic. He’d never met a do-gooder who acted purely out of the goodness of their heart.

Who was Lizzie Allbright when she wasn’t serving the needs of others?

Xavier could think of several more interesting activities that would keep her well entertained at Harcourt. He’d taken steps to arrange easy access to her during their stay. The more he came to know her, the more impatient he was to bed her. And wasn’t that a novel experience?

He was not so preoccupied that evening that he failed to observe Huntley closely. Objectively, Xavier judged Huntley to be an eligible party in Little Thurston. More than one lady was chagrined at the news of Huntley’s betrothal to Miss Allbright.

There must be more than a streak of stubbornness in Huntley to have held to his preference despite his mama’s attempts to dissuade him. Not to mention a great deal of egotism for him to have ignored Lizzie’s outright rejection of his suit.

One couldn’t fault the fellow’s taste. Xavier didn’t consider him a serious rival—how could he be?—but the urge to enter the lists against him and beat him in a fair fight for the lady’s affections was strong within him.

He almost smiled at himself. Next he’d be calling the poor fellow out.

Xavier took a long sip of burgundy. On the whole, it was a good thing that Lizzie was removing from Little Thurston in a week. He was not of the school that believed in absence making the heart grow fonder. Give Huntley’s mama space and time to work on him, and then they would see.

“I am looking forward to visiting Harcourt, my lord,” Miss Beauchamp was saying to Lydgate. “It is so kind of Lord Steyne to invite Aunt Sadie and me. And Lizzie, of course.”

“Our pleasure,” said Lydgate, his eyes glinting with mischief. He turned to bathe the rest of the company in his dazzling smile. “You are all welcome. We shall have quite a Little Thurston contingent.”

Tom grinned. “Why, that’s mighty handsome of you, Lydgate.”

Mr. Huntley was about to reply, but his mother cut in. “My son and I must refuse your kind invitation, Lord Lydgate. My health does not permit that I travel.”

“Mama,” said Mr. Huntley mildly, “I believe I
am
capable of speaking for myself. And indeed, I should like very much to go, for I believe the duke has a collection of intaglios it would gratify me very much to see. If Miss Allbright will be there also, I will certainly make it my business to escort her.”

He sent his mother a fond look. “If we are sure to wrap you up very tight, and bring your linens and your potions and all the comforts you require, I am sure you will weather the journey in good trim.”