The Earl's Complete Surrender (9 page)

Chloe began hoping that the carpet might swallow her up. Wasn't it considered ill form to discuss potential romances in public? Or did that rule only apply to debutantes?

“He inquired about you, you know,” Christopher said as he brushed a piece of invisible lint from his trousers. “Chadwick mentioned it to me, so I thought I'd have a chat with Woodford myself.”

“You spoke to him about me?” Chloe was horrified by the idea of her brother hunting Woodford down in order to question him about his intentions.

“Not yet. Seems the man is somewhat difficult to come by,” Christopher murmured, his eyes steady upon Chloe.

“Not as far as Lady Newbury is concerned,” Ophelia piped up. “She's seen him frequently over the past three days.”

Christopher tilted his head, his expression unchanging. “Indeed,” he said.

“Not to pry,” Lady Duncaster said kindly, “but if you set aside his somber demeanor, Lord Woodford does seem like an amicable young man. You could do far worse than him.”

“I'm sure you're right, my lady, but I stand by my decision to remain unattached.” Though she had no issue with the manner in which her relationship with Woodford had progressed. Indeed, she could hardly wait to be alone with him again.

“Forever?” The ominous word was spoken in unison by everyone else present.

“I see no reason not to. My jointure is substantial enough to—­”

“Your jointure will not keep you warm at night,” Lady Duncaster said in a prim tone that failed to distract from how outrageous her comment had been.

“I beg your pardon?” Chloe said. She could scarcely believe that she was having this conversation in the presence of no fewer than five other ­people, including her brother.

“What Lady Duncaster means to say,” Christopher said, “is that solitude will serve you no good. You need companionship, Chloe.”

“Then perhaps I shall get a dog,” Chloe said, looking at each of them in turn. “I hear Labradors are particularly loyal.”

“A dog indeed,” Lady Duncaster snorted. Tilting her head, she met Chloe's gaze with sincerity. “What you need is a new man in your life.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared back at Chloe. “I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Woodford proves to be just that man.”

Christopher coughed while Lady Sarah appeared to take on a shade bordering on crimson. Charlotte and Ophelia on the other hand nodded agreement. Traitors!

Stiffening her spine, Chloe attempted a smile, although she feared she failed in her effort. In fact, she was feeling remarkably hot and worried that Lady Duncaster might have seen straight through her with those assessing eyes of hers. “Thank you. I will certainly take your advice into consideration.” How much easier it was to just agree with ­people than to argue. In the end, she would do as she wished anyway, regardless of what they said.

“But I still think it would be amusing to watch the two of you compete against each other,” Charlotte said sweetly.

Gritting her teeth, Chloe glared at her friend. “Your subtlety astounds me.”

Charlotte had the good grace to lower her gaze to a spot on the table, but of course the damage was already done. “What does she mean?” Christopher asked with marked concern.

“Do tell us,” Lady Duncaster prodded, her voice suggesting more eagerness than Chloe felt comfortable with. Lady Sarah on the other hand, looked only mildly curious.

“It's nothing really,” Chloe said, attempting to sound as casual as possible, even though her insides were tying themselves into knots. “Lady Ravensby and Lady Forthright just informed me that Lord Woodford is quite proficient at fencing and then, considering my own newly acquired fondness for the sport, jokingly suggested I challenge Lord Woodford to a match.”

“Really?” Lady Sarah squeaked.

“I think the important thing here is to note that it was said in jest,” Christopher said, his brow creased in severe lines. “Please tell me this isn't something you would actually consider.”

“Of course not,” Chloe said. “That would be absurd.”

“I didn't know you fenced,” Lady Duncaster remarked in awe. “How perfectly unexpected of you!”

“She's good at it too,” Christopher said as he looked at Lady Sarah, “it won't be long before she's better than me.”

“I doubt such a thing is possible,” Lady Sarah returned loyally. “And even if it were, it simply wouldn't be done for a lady to engage in such activity—­at least not publically.”

“Which is why the match must take place in private,” Lady Duncaster said.

Everyone's heads swiveled toward the Countess.

“There will be no match,” Chloe repeated. “It was a silly notion. Nothing more.”

“Well, in case you happen to change your mind, there is an exercise room below stairs,” Lady Duncaster said. “Few guests have taken advantage of it since most are here for the sole purpose of relaxation. However, foils, masks and padded vests are available. You're free to make use of them if you wish.”

“She will be doing no such thing,” Christopher said. He met Chloe's gaze with the strict authority of an older brother. “You will do no such thing,” he repeated.

“As I've already told you, I do not plan to.” Unable to resist, she offered him a tight smile and said, “After all, I wouldn't want to offend you by acquiring a new fencing partner.”

“You fence with your sister, Spencer?” The question was spoken by an astonished looking Lady Sarah.

“On occasion. I taught her everything she knows,” he said, straightening with pride.

“Will you teach me?” was Lady Sarah's next question.

Chloe grinned inwardly at the perplexed expression on her brother's face. “We'll see,” he said cautiously before rising to his feet and bowing to the ladies. He extended his hand to Lady Sarah who eagerly accepted it and got up as well. “Shall we take a stroll in the orchard?”

“I'd love nothing better,” Lady Sarah said, beaming up at him in a way that made Chloe's heart ache. She wanted that, but no longer had the courage to pursue it.

“I believe I must leave you as well,” Charlotte said. “I promised Ravensby that I would meet him at the Chinese pavilion at three, and that's in only ten minutes if the clock on the mantel is correct.”

“And Forthright suggested I take a ride with him this afternoon,” Ophelia said, “so I had best go and change into my habit.”

The party broke up until only Chloe and Lady Duncaster remained.

“How about I show you that exercising room?” Lady Duncaster suggested with a sly smile. “Whether or not you decide to make use of it is entirely up to you, though I daresay you might want to use a bit of discretion since there are those among us who are likely to disapprove. However, I do believe a woman such as yourself will appreciate the space available along with the equipment.”

On a sigh, Chloe nodded. “I confess I am a little curious. After all, the rest of the estate is so extravagant and fascinating, I cannot help but wonder what your exercise room looks like.”

Lady Duncaster beamed as she got to her feet and waited for Chloe to follow. “Oh, it's quite over the top, I assure you. You're absolutely going to love it!”

Chloe didn't doubt it for a second. Her only concern was that it might tempt her to do something that a lady of breeding ought not to be doing.

Meanwhile, in the smoking room . . .

“H
ow is your search for the journal coming along?” Hainsworth asked as he leaned back in his leather armchair, took a sip of his brandy and reached for the box of cigars. “Are you making any progress?”

James blew out a breath. “To be honest, I had hoped to have found it by now, but conducting a discreet search in a house full of ­people has proven a challenge.”

“Which is why you've resorted to working at night.” Hainsworth cut the cigar he'd selected, a mild frown dimpling his brow. “I'm sorry you're not able to get more sleep.” Snatching up a tinderbox, he ignited a wood splint and used it to light his cigar.

“It's part of the job,” James said. “I'm used to it.”

Hainsworth expelled a puff of smoke. “Do you ever think about retiring?”

“And doing what?”

“Getting married perhaps? Your parents would have wanted you to—­”

“Please don't.” James stared back at the man who'd raised him since the age of ten. He was the only person whom he trusted with his secret life as a spy and his thirst for revenge. “I'm continuing in my father's footsteps. I think they would both be proud.”

“But you're not leaving a legacy, Woodford.”

“They would understand that I cannot risk putting other ­people's lives in danger. You mustn't forget that my father was the one gathering information about The Electors. They came to kill
him,
not my mother, but unfortunately she happened to be in my father's study at the wrong moment.”

Dropping his gaze, Hainsworth sighed while appearing to study his shoes. “Perhaps once you've finished this assignment you'll reconsider?”

“Only if the journal reveals the identities of The Electors.”

Hainsworth nodded and looked up, meeting James's gaze. “I hope you won't be too disappointed if it fails to give you the answers you crave. After all, there's no telling how many members there are or which one of them killed your parents.”

“I'm aware of that, but once their identities are made known, they will
all
be persecuted, whether it be for the murder of my parents or for something else.” Picking up his glass, James gave it a slow swivel, watching as the amber liquid lapped against the sides. “I think Scarsdale might be involved.”

“Really?”

“Someone else was in the passageway last night, trying to gain access to Lord Duncaster's bedchamber. I couldn't tell who it was, so I followed him, hoping to see where he was going, but he managed to get away. Shortly after, I ran into Scarsdale on my way back to my bedchamber. He was the only other person around.”

“That does seem a bit suspicious, although it might also have been a coincidence. Did you speak with him?”

Nodding, James took a sip of his drink. “He claimed he was going to meet with a lady and denied any knowledge of a secret passageway. In fact, he seemed genuinely surprised when I accused him of wanting to access Duncaster's bedchamber, but it could also have been an act.”

“What does your instinct tell you?”

“That he's not to be trusted.” Passing the palm of his hand across his face, James sighed. “Of course, I might also be basing that on my own previous experiences with him.”

“You mean the fencing incident?”

“It's not just that. We were at Cambridge together. The man cheated and bribed his way through every exam—­same as Newbury. And then of course there was that case involving Viscount Grant's daughter. Scarsdale will never forget what I did to him, which is probably why he insisted on fencing against me.” Setting his glass aside, James leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “It surprises me that Lady Newbury entertains his company when her character is so very different from his.”

“It's possible that he only allows her to see what he wants her to see.”

James nodded. “I'm sure you're right about that. I just hope she's wise enough to keep him at arm's length.”

“You think he means to pursue her?”

“Considering the glower he gave me the two times he found us together, I'm absolutely certain of it. But, enough about her. I think—­”

“Not so fast, Woodford. I may be getting on in years, but I can still tell when you're trying to distract me from something important.” He studied James for a moment before saying, “If you're considering getting involved with her yourself, I think perhaps you ought to reconsider.”

“And I thought you'd be thrilled,” James told him dryly, “after all your talk about me retiring and settling down.”

“After,
you finish your mission. Not before.” Hainsworth squashed the burning tip of his cigar into the ashtray next to him, his eyes on James. “You said yourself that it would be dangerous to put others into harm's way by association. She's the Earl of Oakland's daughter, sister to Viscount Spencer and the Earl of Newbury's widow . . . the last thing you want is her death on your hands because you chose to get too close at a time when distance is of the essence.”

Rising, James crossed to the window and looked out at the garden beyond—­at the colorful display of pansies filling the flowerbeds. “You're right,” he said, aware that forming any kind of attachment with her could put her life in danger. If only he could have resisted temptation, but now that he'd tasted her . . . heard those little mewling sounds she made when he touched her . . . it was going to be difficult to stay away. More so to explain to her his sudden disinterest. But somehow, he was going to have to try.

“I think a bit of exercise would do me good,” James said. “It will help clear my head.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Turning away from the window, James allowed a rare smile. “A fencing match, if you're up to it.”

“You know bloody well that I don't stand a chance against you.”

“True, but that doesn't mean that you're not the best teacher I've ever had. What do you say, Hains­worth? For old time's sake?”

Grinning, Hainsworth pushed himself out of his chair. “Very well,” he agreed, following James from the room.

 

Chapter 8

F
rom a doorway at the far end of the exercise room, Chloe watched in awe as Lord Woodford fought off his opponent's thrusts with graceful movements. There was no doubt that the earl was an expert swordsman, for he seemed exceedingly capable of executing the most difficult maneuvers with perfect ease.

“It is a sight to behold, is it not?” Lady Duncaster murmured at her side. The old woman expelled a deep breath. “If I were only thirty years younger.”

“You wish to fence?” Chloe asked, not the least bit surprised. Lady Duncaster did have some unusual habits and after proving her skill at archery when she'd hosted the game day a week earlier, there was no telling what she might be capable of.

Lady Duncaster shrugged. “I confess I never really took to it, though I certainly appreciate watching other ­people prancing about. No, I was referring to their stunning physique.” Jutting her chin forward, she indicated Woodford and Hains­worth. “Whoever would have thought that a man of Hainsworth's age would be in such excellent form? And Woodford's body . . . well, I daresay it's magnificent enough to make a nun swoon.”

Chloe swallowed as she returned her attention to Lord Woodford. It was impossible for her not to study him closely, in light of what Lady Duncaster had just said, and indeed, she found herself clasping at the doorjamb in order to steady herself. She'd been watching his footwork before, but now that her gaze traveled over the rest of him—­his well-­defined legs and arms that appeared quite toned beneath the thin lawn of his shirtsleeves—­she was able to discern more of his physical attributes than when she'd encouraged his kisses yesterday.

She sucked in a breath. If only she could see his chest, but unfortunately that was concealed beneath his padded vest. Heart thrumming away, Chloe muttered a curse.

“What was that, my dear?” Lady Duncaster asked, her voice pitched with curiosity.

“Nothing,” Chloe said.

The countess chuckled. “I daresay
that
is not nothing. Dear me, they truly are strapping, are they not?”

Heat rose to Chloe's cheeks, aware that she must be looking quite pink at the moment, for the room had suddenly grown awfully hot and she was finding it quite difficult to breathe.

“I do hope he asks you to dance,” Lady Duncaster murmured as the men's foils clanged together and their footsteps thudded upon the floor.

Chloe stiffened, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. “Dance?” she squeaked. Lord, she could hardly think straight with him commanding such control . . . such authority . . . such utter masculinity. Her thoughts flew back to the kiss they'd shared and to the state in which he'd left her: hungry for more.

“Yes. At the ball we were just discussing on our way down here. I'm beginning to suspect that you and Lord Woodford might be very well suited.”

“We're entirely different,” Chloe muttered as she recalled the ball Lady Duncaster was planning to host.

Patting her gently on the shoulder, Lady Duncaster whispered, “It often works best that way.” Inhaling deeply, she then said, “As much as I would like to remain here admiring those gentlemen, I have an appointment that I simply must keep. See you later, my dear, and do close your mouth. It really won't do for them to find you gaping.”

It took Chloe all of two seconds to fathom that she was being abandoned, which she certainly wasn't pleased with. Turning away from the room, she made to follow Lady Duncaster out, when in her haste, her elbow struck the door, producing not only a loud bang, but throwing the door wide open. Silence descended upon her, and she knew, horrifyingly so, before she even looked, that she'd been spotted.

“Lady Newbury,” Hainsworth said as he began striding toward her, “to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I . . .” How on earth was she to deny spying on them? “Lady Duncaster offered to show me the exercising room, so we came down together. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“No need,” Hainsworth said as he looked beyond the spot where Chloe was standing. “Is the countess still here?”

“No,” Chloe admitted, looking away. “She just left.”

“As you should have done when you realized we were training,” Woodford remarked with a scowl. “This isn't a sight for a lady.”

On that score, he was probably quite correct. Even now, Chloe was having a difficult time avoiding the unbidden image of him wearing decidedly fewer clothes. But the severity with which he spoke grated, stopping her from doing what she ought in favor of discovering the reason behind his sudden hostility toward her. “Perhaps not,” she said, ignoring the urge to flee and walking into the room instead, “but since I did happen to see you, may I at least compliment you on your form? You are both quite skilled.”

A muscle twitched at Woodford's jawline as he followed her progress with his eyes. Here, in this place below stairs—­a place where women did not venture—­he seemed incredibly powerful and perhaps even a bit dangerous.

A shiver slid along Chloe's spine, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to give her own emotions away. They frightened her, these new sensations, even in their fresh fragility. Incredibly, Lord Woodford had awoken something inside her—­a yearning she hadn't felt in years, not just to be held . . . touched . . . kissed by a man who wanted her in return, but to be appreciated for the woman that she was—­to be admired. Except she now felt as though he was trying to push her away and she needed to know why.

“You're acquainted with the art of fencing?” Hainsworth asked, addressing her in a much gentler tone than Woodford had done.

She nodded, her eyes trained on Hainsworth. “I've been taking lessons for almost a year now. Spencer has been teaching me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Woodford asked, sounding wonderfully astonished.

“Surely you jest,” Hainsworth said, looking equally surprised.

“Not at all,” Chloe assured him. “Spencer and I have always done many things together due to our closeness in age.”

“You cannot possibly mean . . .” Hainsworth's words trailed off into obscurity.

There was a pause, and then, “What exactly are you saying, Lady Newbury?”

The question was voiced by Woodford, and although it did sound as though he was speaking through between clenched teeth, Chloe detected an unmistakable note of curiosity. She turned toward him slowly, smiled benignly and said, “That I enjoy fencing for sport as much as you do.”

He narrowed his gaze on her—­studying . . . assessing . . .

“Perhaps I ought to show you,” Chloe said, raising an eyebrow.

“The devil you will,” Woodford said.

He looked just about as unapproachable as a rock. Chloe took a step back. Perhaps she'd made a mistake in staying. She really should leave.

“I believe you know better than to speak so rudely in the presence of a lady, Woodford,” Hains­worth said, halting Chloe's plans of retreat.

“Forgive me,” Woodford muttered, “but I fear it was unavoidable.”

With a speculative glint to his eyes, Hainsworth bowed toward Chloe. “Lady Newbury, it has been a pleasure seeing you again.” Straightening himself, he removed his vest and handed it to her along with his foil, which she graciously accepted. He then started toward the door leading out to the stairs.

Woodford stared after him. “Where are you going? We still have three more rounds left!”

“I daresay Lady Newbury will be more than happy to oblige,” Hainsworth called over his shoulder. Pausing by the door, he said, “Just don't forget what we talked about.” He gave a curt nod before disappearing from sight.

A long drawn-­out moment of awkward silence followed. When Chloe could stand it no longer, she hazarded a glance in Woodford's direction and found him watching her as if he wasn't quite sure of what to do with her. Her heart tapped lightly against her chest, unsure of what it meant. “Are you having second thoughts?” She eventually asked, not wanting to hear the truth but knowing that she must—­for her own peace of mind.

“About what?” His expression was a tight mask of rigidity, betraying not a hint of his thoughts.

The question surprised her. Choosing not to answer, she responded with one of her own. “How do you do it?” She shook her head, unable to fathom that he'd kissed her passionately—­as if he'd been starving for her—­only the day before. “How can you be so unaffected by what we shared?”

He shrugged. “It was just a kiss.”

Her heart crumpled a little. “You said that you intended to continue what you started.”

“And I still might. At some point.”

She blinked. Something must have happened. His behavior made no sense otherwise, for although he'd always maintained a serious demeanor, he'd never been cold toward her before. But the way he was treating her now . . . it almost reminded her of the way he'd been toward Scarsdale. Pushing aside her pride in an effort to understand, she said, “Have I done something to displease you?”

He tilted his head. “I believe your conscience would trouble you if you had.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing, except for the fact that we shouldn't have allowed ourselves to get carried away. As I told you, I have no plan to marry.”

“And I have accepted that condition since—­”

“You shouldn't,” he clipped.

His tone made her bristle, and just like that, she completely lost the composure that she'd worked so hard to retain. “I hope you're not trying to presume what's best for me, Lord Woodford, because if you are, then allow me to assure you that I have no desire to marry anyone ever again. I have already endured one marriage and it was a miserable failure, so I will not be subjecting myself to another!” Her heart was in her throat as she covered her mouth with her hand. Wide-­eyed, she stared at him, waiting for his rebuke. She could not believe she'd just spoken so boldly.

Woodford's expression softened until he almost looked as though he might smile. He didn't quite. But he didn't get angry with her either, as she'd feared he might. “Was it really that bad?” he asked instead.

Her annoyance dissipated in response to the sympathy tinging his voice. “It was awful,” she confessed. “Nothing but lies and humiliation. I . . . She bit her lip before saying something she'd likely regret, but the truth was that she'd felt no sense of loss when Newbury's death had been reported. On the contrary, she'd felt free.

“You're glad he's gone?”

The question startled her to her core. “No. I could never do anything as reprehensible as rejoice in the death of another person.”

“Of course not,” he told her seriously. And then, “Would you like to talk about it?”

She almost laughed, but shook her head instead. “Why did you treat me with disdain when I came down here?”

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry about that. I'm just not sure that you and I should be engaging in a liaison with each other.”

“May I ask why? After all, you are the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“I know,” he said, “but I did not think it through. There are a lot of ­people here at Thorncliff. If any of them find out, it could affect your reputation, and you don't seem like the sort of woman who would be indifferent to such a thing.”

“You're probably right,” Chloe agreed. She'd always hated gossip, especially when it was directed at her. “But if that were the only issue, you could have just talked to me.” She studied him a moment, taking courage, until finally she said, “I suspect there might be another reason for your displeasure with my presence here.” His eyes darkened, increasing her concern. “What is it?”

It seemed like forever before he finally spoke. “I don't like Scarsdale,” he said very matter-­of-­factly. “He and I have a history and”—­he glanced away a moment, then looked her squarely in the eye—­“did he visit you last night?”

“What do you mean?” He didn't reply, his eyes steadily boring into her as if he hoped to somehow read the contents of her mind. Realization was quick to follow. “No! Of course not!”

“The thought distresses you?”

“I don't know why I'm confiding in you like this, but it turns out that Scarsdale is not the friend I thought him to be.”

Woodford appeared to hold himself in check with some great force of will. “What did he do?”

“It's nothing really,” Chloe said, attempting to make light of the issue in case Woodford decided to do something foolish like challenge Scarsdale to a duel. “Suffice it to say that he believed there was more between us than there actually is.”

“I see.”

Was it just her imagination or did he look slightly relieved? “Are you really just concerned about my reputation?”

“Yes,” he said, responding quickly.