The Earl's Complete Surrender (7 page)

“That said, I must admit that I enjoy your company immensely,” he continued. “Our conversations are both interesting and refreshing—­a perfect reflection of you. So, if you would like to consider a more intimate relationship with me, then I would be more than happy to oblige.”

His forthright manner made her tense a little, not to mention that this was the second proposition she'd gotten within no more than an hour, and from a man whom she still knew very little about. But unlike Scarsdale, there was nothing pushy about Woodford. Furthermore, Scarsdale did not make her skin tingle the way Woodford did, which definitely made Woodford's offer a lot more tempting. “And if I say no?” she asked.

“Then I will respect your wishes,” he said.

No. He wasn't like Scarsdale at all, though perhaps a bit more rough around the edges. To her consternation, she decided that she quite liked that. “If I say yes, it will be for a limited time only and with the utmost discretion. I won't be your mistress, Woodford.”

“I would not ask you to be,” he murmured as they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Opening it, he revealed a winding staircase leading upward. “We would just be two adults taking pleasure in each other's company. Nothing more.”

His hand settled against her lower back, sending a wave of heat all the way to her toes. It had been so long since she'd felt a man's touch, and then it had been with a man whose affection for her had fallen tragically short of what hers had been for him. At least with Woodford, she knew where she stood. “I'll need to take it slow. My previous experience . . . I don't want to rush into anything. There is also every possibility that I might suddenly change my mind. If that bothers you, then—­”

“As long as you continue to be as honest as you're being right now, then you and I will get along well enough.”

Raising her chin, she gave him a little nod. “Then we are in agreement,” she said, and stepped through the door.

J
ames followed, his eyes dropping to the sway of her hips as she started up the stairs and he pulled the door closed behind him. Clenching his hands, he resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her, allowing the anticipation of what was to come to grow. She'd agreed to his scandalous proposition—­a proposition that he'd had no intention of making until running into her in the hallway. Somehow, it had just happened, and as he'd spoken the words, the idea of it had seemed increasingly logical, given their attraction toward one another and her widowed state.

Stepping out onto the roof terrace, he paused for a moment, watching as Lady Newbury took in the view. Their propensity for crossing paths with each other was almost peculiar, given Thorncliff's size. James considered the odds. He couldn't recall coming across anyone else quite as frequently, which led him to believe that they were somehow meant to be together. Not that he was superstitious, but he'd learned from experience that there did seem to be such a thing as fate.

Lady Newbury's gown hugged her legs as the breeze toyed with the fabric. “It's incredible,” she said, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looked toward the maze. “I can see fields over there, beyond Thorncliff's boundaries, and even the church steeple from the village.

“If you turn a little to the right, you'll see a haze straight ahead on the horizon. That's where the sea begins,” James told her, knowing she'd be interested.

The book he'd found in Lord Duncaster's room a few evenings earlier had turned out to contain nothing but lists of purchases on the first two pages while the rest of it had been blank. So he'd come upstairs today hoping to locate the earl's bedchamber based on the route he recalled taking through the secret passageways and with the intent of avoiding more cobwebs and any potential falls.

Unfortunately he'd found the hallway full of maids and footmen, all of whom had been surprised to see him in such a remote part of the house. Of course, the most frustrating thing of all was that his own bedchamber didn't have a hidden door to the passage, perhaps because his room was part of the most recent construction at Thorncliff and secret passageways had not been included in the building plans. Either way, it meant that he couldn't explore them until the rest of the guests retired to their beds. The last ­couple of evenings when he'd tried to return to the Turkish salon late at night, he'd found it occupied.

Unwilling to interfere with another ­couple's liaison, he'd quietly closed the door before they noticed his presence. Hopefully they would choose a different location for their rendezvous tonight. Only time would tell, he supposed. It wasn't all bad considering that he now had a few hours to spare with Lady Newbury.

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, a few strands of hair toying in the breeze. “It's just as splendid as you said it would be,” she said with a smile, her eyes bright and inviting.

James's chest tightened, along with other parts of his body. “Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. She caught it within a few strides, allowing him to pull her toward the wall of the tower behind them and out of view from anyone who might happen to look up from below. “I'd like to kiss you now, if I may?”

Her lips parted ever so slightly, her breath trembling across the plump flesh. Green eyes, wide with expectation, longing and no small amount of fear, met his. He stroked his fingers gently along the length of her arm, a long soothing motion intended to reassure and shoo away the pain that rose to the surface whenever she was scared. She always tried to hide it, but he'd seen it before, and it made him realize that she hadn't made her decision to be with him lightly. He appreciated that.

“Yes,” she finally whispered, so faintly that he barely heard her.

His stomach twisted to form a tight ball of nerves that released the moment his lips met hers, shooting through each of his limbs to accentuate the pleasure of finally being this close to her. He'd dreamed of this moment, and of so much more.

Unable to resist, he pushed her back, pressing her against the hard wall of the tower as he deepened the kiss while the scent of her—­chamomile and lemons—­assaulted his senses. She murmured something, her lips parting as she did so, and he took advantage, dipping his tongue inside to sample her warmth.

She was exquisite—­sweet like nectar. And her body . . . it was slim and delicate, but ever so soft against his own firmness, offering him the comfort that he so dearly craved. So he moved even closer, trapping her completely as he demanded more.

Her arms wound their way slowly around his neck, more hesitantly than he'd expected, and he realized his mistake. She'd asked him to take things slow, yet here he was, plundering her mouth on the rooftop of Thorncliff while contemplating things that a gentleman shouldn't consider when keeping company with a lady. It wasn't what she wanted, and though he knew he could have her right now if he chose, he was also aware that going down that path would break the fragile trust that had started to form between them.

So he retreated, took a few gulps of fresh air, and tried to ignore the devilish voice inside his head that urged him to continue. Her expression grew wary as he took a step back. “What . . . ?” she started, then shook her head and just stared at him, concern brightening her eyes.

“You're just as perfect as I imagined you'd be,” he assured her. “But it seems I lack restraint, where you are concerned.”

“It was just a kiss,” she said.

“Trust me, it would have become far more than that if I hadn't stopped. You deserve better than that, and I don't want to lose your respect.”

Silence hovered over them and for a moment she looked ready to protest. But the moment passed and she eventually nodded. “I suppose we should go back downstairs before anyone finds us here together.”

“Why don't you go down first, just in case someone happens to be in the hallway below.”

Nodding, she smoothed her gown and then stepped through the narrow door, turning briefly to look at him. “Where does this leave us?” she asked.

“I believe a reprieve is in order,” he said. “And then I intend to continue what we've started.”

She nodded again, a flush of color staining her cheeks as she disappeared down the stairs.

James stared after her. He couldn't quite believe the lack of restraint he'd just felt, but by God if that woman didn't stir his blood! Pulling out his pocket watch, he glanced at the time. Four thirty. A little more than three hours until dinner. Deciding it might be wise to cool his ardor if he were to concentrate on his task that night rather than contemplate the quickest path to Lady Newbury's bedchamber, he snatched a towel from his room and went to the stables. Half an hour later he was in the En­glish Chanel, a succession of frothy waves crashing against him and his mind once again sharply tuned.

But later that night, when he made his way through the secret passageway again, the glow of his lantern scattering shadows across the door to the former earl's bedchamber as he tried to open it, he found it locked. Lady Duncaster must have realized that someone had been to her husband's room. Knowing he wouldn't make any progress by just standing there, he decided to go back to his own room and reconsider his options before continuing. But just as he prepared to do so, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Shielding his lantern with his torso, he moved further down the passage until he reached a spot where a wide stone column jutted inward, narrowing the path.

James stepped around it, hid the lantern completely from view and allowed himself to be swallowed by darkness. The footsteps grew louder; a quick and confident tread upon the floorboards. A yellow haze came into view—­the light of a lantern, behind which the dark form of a man followed. He paused outside the Earl of Duncaster's bedchamber, reached for the handle and tried to pull.

James watched as the man tried the handle again. Why would someone else try to gain access like this? James could think of no other reason than that the man must be looking for something as well and that he didn't wish to be seen. James considered his options. If the man was after the journal, he would likely be an Elector, in which case he might prove useful if James discovered his identity. But James wouldn't be able to do so without revealing his own presence in the passageway, which could prove detrimental to his mission if the man turned out to be nothing more than a servant taking a shortcut.

The man turned away, blending with the shadows as he strode back in the direction from which he'd come. Keeping his lantern behind him in order to provide a minimal glow, James quietly followed while staying as close to the wall as possible. He passed the opening in the floor through which the ladder rose and continued toward the side of the house where his own bedchamber was located, aware that the passage would probably end soon, once it reached the newer construction.

Another step caused a creak in the floorboard. James paused, as did the footsteps ahead of him. A brief moment of silence followed before he heard the footsteps again, louder this time and moving quickly away. Whoever the man was, he'd realized he wasn't alone and was trying to escape getting caught. An unlikely course of action if he was a servant and had the right to be there.

James's suspicions grew and he increased his pace as well, determined now to discover the man's identity. If he was an Elector, he might even prove useful in unveiling the rest of the members without the need of the book. Although James had his doubts about such a simple outcome, he wouldn't say no to another tool in his fight against the organization responsible for the death of his parents.

A muted click sounded in the distance, then the scrape of wood against wood and the quiet thud of a door closing. Swinging his lantern in front of him, James ran forward while watching the wall for handles. He found one after twenty paces and, knowing that the next one would be too far, he pulled it back to activate the spring.

The door swung back without complaint and James stepped swiftly through it to find himself in a small nook a little to the right of the upstairs landing. Closing the door behind him, he moved forward and listened, but was only met by the unified ticking of clocks rising from below.
Damn!

Starting back toward his own room, he wondered if he ought to give up on the earl's bedchamber for now and look elsewhere. But what if the man in the passageway managed to gain access and find the journal there before James did? He couldn't allow such a thing to happen. No. Somehow he had to get a better look at the escritoire and the other furniture as well.

Rounding a corner, he caught a flash of movement and turned toward it, instinctively ducking his head as he did so. But the dark shadow retreated, hurrying away from him and James gave chase, catching up to it in a few long strides. Reaching out, his hand latched onto a shoulder and held fast, forcing the shadow sideways until it slammed against the wall. A loud succession of pants followed and James lifted his lantern to illuminate the shadow's face. “Scarsdale?” The earl's eyes squinted against the yellow light. “What the devil are you doing sneaking about like this?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Scarsdale muttered.

James released his hold on Scarsdale but stayed close enough to catch him again in case he tried to run off. “Why were you trying to access the Earl of Duncaster's bedchamber?”

Scarsdale stared back at him, his initial look of surprise replaced by one of fury. “What the hell are you talking about, Woodford?”

“I saw you in the secret passageway,” James told him, unwilling to relent. The body-­type fit. It had to have been him.

“I don't know anything about any secret passageways. And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't want to explore them.”

James leaned closer. “Are you sure about that?”