The Earl Takes All Page 3

  Sighing, he plowed his hand through his hair before taking a step nearer and wrapping his long, thick fingers around the bedpost. “We don’t want to risk you losing the babe.”

  Regretfully, she nodded. “I am rather weary. It’s been an exhausting few days. Still, I shall feel like such a terrible hostess.”

  “I imagine they’ll enjoy having a bit of time to visit without my morose presence.”

  His words startled her. “You’re not going to join them?”

  “I’m not going to leave you here to dine alone after the trying day you’ve had, not when you’re experiencing discomfort that came about because of my brother’s actions.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Fine isn’t good enough.”

  For a moment she thought he was blushing before he turned away.

  “Let’s get those shoes off,” he said.

  She watched as he strode to her dressing table, shrugging out of his jacket as he went and tossing it onto a nearby chair. With his jacket gone, she could see clearly that during his few months away, his shoulders had broadened and his skin had become bronzed by the harsh African sun. She was taken aback that at a time such as this, she should feel such a magnetic pull toward him. How selfish she’d been earlier to want his attentions when he was giving her far more now than she’d expected. She wanted things between them to be as though he’d never left, but she realized that the usual ease they experienced with each other might be slow in coming. However, she had to believe it would return.

  He sat on the edge of the mattress and skillfully used the hook to loosen the buttons on one shoe and then the other. Setting the hook aside, he gently tugged off her left shoe. She grimaced with the discomfort, then sighed with relief as her toes were free to wiggle about.

  “My God,” he said.

  “I know. They’re hideously swollen. I fear my ankles rather look as though they belong on an elephant.”

  “You should have said something sooner,” he chastised, slowly easing her other foot out of the shoe.

  “Don’t be cross.”

  “I’m not cross,” he said, refusing to take his gaze from the trunks that were her ankles. “I’m worried about you, Julia.”

  “The swelling is to be expected. I don’t think I’m in any danger of losing the babe.”

  He nodded toward the side. “Pass me one of the pillows you’re not using.”

  With extreme tenderness, he placed it beneath her feet. “Need to get a bit of blood flowing, I think,” he said.

  He placed both hands around her ankle, slid them up beneath her skirt and over her knee until he reached the tie of her stocking. Her breath caught and held as she waited. Having his fingers so near the apex of her womanhood was sweet torture. He slowly loosened the ribbons, then even more slowly rolled the silk down past her toes and set it aside. His hands journeyed up her other leg, and she nearly melted on the spot. It was ridiculous how desperately she wanted his hands on her. When the other stocking was cast aside, he returned his attention to her first leg and began kneading her calf. His hand glided up to the back of her knee, his fingers massaging there for a moment before beginning the journey back toward her ankle. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  “It feels lovely.” The skin on his palms and fingers felt coarser, not as smooth as it had been before his journey. She imagined he’d gone a good deal of the time without gloves. If he had worn them, his hands wouldn’t be so tanned now. “I may find myself grateful for the swelling. You’ve never rubbed my feet before.”

  He stilled a fraction of a heartbeat before continuing the fluid, soothing motions, offering her an apologetic smile. “What a cad I am.”

  She laughed lightly at his teasing. She’d missed it. Missed this. Simply being with him, no expectations, no burdens. “You also never used profanity in my presence.”

  “It seems Edward’s bad habits became mine during our travels.”

  “You must have seen some amazing sights.”

  Moving his hands to her other ankle he nodded. “We did.”

  “I wish I could have journeyed with you.”

  “You wouldn’t have much liked it when Edward broke an egg into your shoe and insisted you walk about with the muck in there.”

  “Are you joshing?”

  He lifted his eyes to hers, and for the first time she saw no sadness, and she was filled with hope that perhaps the mourning would not last the remainder of his life. “Prevents blisters.”

  “How did he know that?”

  He shrugged. “Read it somewhere. He was always reading, trying to ensure our journeys were as comfortable as possible.”

  “You had a good time when you were with him.”

  “I did. It was the best . . . until it wasn’t.”

  She wanted to give him a bit of cheer during this dark time. “I thought we might name our son after him.”

  His gaze went to her belly, then he looked away. “No. We’ll not name the Greyling heir after such a selfish bastard. He’s to be named after his father, as he should be.”

  She didn’t know what to say to his harsh words regarding Edward. He’d never shown any anger toward his brother. Not when Edward stumbled into their residence three sheets in the wind. Not when he held out a hand for more money because he’d frittered away his allowance. Not when large men knocked at their door because he had amassed large gambling debts. Albert indulged his brother, seemed to think his irresponsible lifestyle was harmless enough. He’d never had a bad word for Edward. Until now. It was so unlike him.

  She could sense him withdrawing into himself. She didn’t want to lose him, not again. As he continued massaging, his hands periodically disappearing beneath her skirt, a little bit of naughtiness took hold of her. “You are my husband. It is perfectly acceptable for you to lift my skirt over my knees.”

  “I don’t need the temptation.”

  As inappropriate as it was during this time of mourning, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill. “Are you tempted?”

  “A man is always tempted when a lady reveals her ankles.”

  “Then I’m nothing special.”

  His hands stopped, his eyes captured hers. “I did not mean that. Other ladies no longer tempt me.”

  She smiled softly. “I know. I was merely teasing, striving to make you laugh, relieve your burden for a bit.”

  “Eventually, we will laugh again. Just not today.” He patted her ankles and stood. “I should let the others know we won’t be joining them for dinner.”

  “My feet aren’t as swollen. If I sit with them resting on a little stool—­”

  “No, it’ll be better if we dine alone. I won’t be long.”

  He snatched up his jacket before leaving her room. With a sigh, she sat back farther into the pillows and wiggled her toes. If we dine alone. His wording did not escape her. Now that Edward was laid to rest, perhaps her husband would finally return to her.

  She had the tiniest toes. Even with feet and ankles swollen, it was obvious that her toes were small and delicate. Why the bloody hell should he find them so intriguing?

  As he strode into the library, he was grateful to find no one was yet waiting on him. He crossed to the side table, poured himself an unhealthy amount of scotch and tossed it back. He had to take care with his words, had to ensure he gave her no cause to doubt Greyling’s devotion to her. He couldn’t mention other ladies’ ankles or thighs or lovely attributes. He could give no indication that he remained a man who found other women attractive. Although at that moment he couldn’t think of a single woman other than Julia who appealed to him. Still, he needed to tamp down all natural urges, in order not to find himself taking advantage of this situation. He quickly drank another tumbler of scotch.

  Even the urge to drink to excess had to be curbed. He could get by with it for a couple of days, chalking it
up to grief, but he doubted Julia had ever seen Albert deep into his cups. And if he himself were drunk, he could very well make a ghastly mistake and reveal who he was. Although it was likely that could happen if he was sober.

  He wandered to the desk and grazed his finger over the shiny ebony box. He’d noticed it earlier but assumed it always sat on his brother’s desk. In the past, he’d often visited his brother at the estate, but never really lived within the residence, especially after Albert married Julia. The manor had been closed up when their parents died, so when Albert reached his majority, he’d come to Evermore, hired new staff, and opened the place back up. Edward knew a few by name, but most he couldn’t have cared less about. Knowing Albert, he’d probably known them all. God, he’d stepped into a quagmire. He was going to have to tread so very carefully.

  He returned to the table, reached for the decanter, paused with his fingers wrapped around the delicate crystal—­

  With a harsh curse, he picked it up and slung it against the wall, taking no satisfaction when it shattered into shards and sent amber liquid raining down along the dark paneling.

  “Not so easy being your brother?”

  With another harsh curse, Edward spun around to face Locke, grateful it wasn’t Ashe standing there with his wife. He almost blurted that Julia had tiny toes, as though Locke would give a fig. “She’s exhausted; we won’t be joining you for dinner.”

  “You’re afraid we’ll slip up.”

  He plowed his hand through his hair. “More afraid I will.”

  “Tug on your ear,” Locke said as he casually strolled nearer. “When you reach for your hair, tug on your ear.”

  “Right.” He did so now, knowing it was too late. Albert tugged before he spoke, not after.

  Locke planted his hip on the edge of the desk. “I suspect she’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

  But she had the tiniest, most delicate toes. And such silken skin. Whatever had he been thinking to skim his fingers over her calves, across the backs of her knees? “Can’t risk it. The babe is all that remains of my brother.”

  He couldn’t explain the hole that now resided within him, the place where Albert had been. He needed this child to survive as much as Albert had wished that it would.

  “I was a babe when my mother died,” Locke said quietly. “I grew up with a father who perpetually mourned her loss. Nothing replaces such a loss.”

  “I’m not expecting the child to be a substitute, but I owe Albert this small sacrifice. My mind’s made up, and while you’re very skilled at laying out your arguments, on this matter, nothing will sway me.”

  Locke glanced over at the mess left by the hurled decanter. “You might want to reel back your temper a notch.”

  Edward chuckled harshly. “More than a notch, I’d say.” Albert never displayed a temper.

  Hearing footsteps, he glanced toward the doorway in time to see the duke and his duchess enter. Locke was halfway correct about Edward’s reasons for not joining them for dinner. He feared the duchess would figure him out. She was too sharp by half.

  “The affairs of the past few days have worn Julia out,” he told them. “She and I will not be joining you for dinner.”

  “I assume she’ll have a tray in her bedchamber,” the duchess said. “Perhaps it would be best if I joined her there, gave you gents a little more time to catch up.”

  He tugged on his ear. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve caught up all that we need to. I left my wife alone for far too many weeks. I intend to make that up to her now. We’ll see you at breakfast.”

  He caught a spark of approval in Ashe’s eyes; not that he was seeking approval, but apparently he’d managed to conduct himself more as his brother might. Now if he could just do the same without stumbling through the maze that had been Albert’s life with his countess.

  Chapter 3

  Julia’s feet were feeling so much better. Albert’s massage had done wonders. It had also helped that once he left, she called for her maid and changed from the stiff black crepe into her softest nightdress and wrap. Although she enjoyed visiting with their guests, she welcomed the opportunity to simply relax with her husband.

  Sitting in a plush chair near the fire, she set her feet on a low stool and curled her toes. Unfurled them, thought of the callused hands that had stroked her with such surety, as though he’d rubbed her feet a thousand times before, when he’d never once performed that intimate and luxurious service for her. She imagined those abraded hands skimming over all of her, how marvelous the different textures would feel, what a very different experience it might be. She rather hoped they wouldn’t go completely soft before they made love again.

  Hearing the click of the door opening, she looked over to see her husband stride in with two wineglasses dangling between the fingers of one hand and two wine bottles caught in the other. He staggered to a stop and stared at her, his gaze running the length of her as though he’d never before seen her in a nightdress and wrap. Perhaps it was simply that her condition was not as disguised as when she wore a dress. Self-­consciously she tugged on the sides of her wrap, trying to close it over her belly and breasts, but it refused to cooperate. “I’ve become huge while you were away.”

  “No, not at all.” With his elbow, he closed the door before bringing the wine and glasses over and setting them on the small table before the sofa. She could see now that one was a bottle of red, the other white. “Our guests were completely understanding, and the servants should be bringing our dinner any moment now. I thought we might enjoy a spot of wine while we waited.”

  “I’m not convinced spirits are good for the babe.”

  He suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable, as though he’d forgotten about her condition. “You’re absolutely right. Not certain what I was thinking.”

  “No reason you can’t indulge.”

  He wasted no time pouring red into a glass, lifting it toward her in a salute before taking a sip and walking to the fireplace. He looked at the fire, darted a quick glance to her, and returned his gaze to the fire as though not quite sure what to do with his eyes. “How are your feet?”

  “Much better. It helped I think to change into something not quite so confining. Since it was to be only the two of us here, I didn’t think formality was required.”

  “Of course it’s not.”

  Shoving herself to her feet, she was grateful the swelling had dissipated completely and she was able to glide toward him without any limping or discomfort. She couldn’t be completely certain, but it appeared he’d ceased breathing as she neared. “You should be as comfortable,” she murmured, taking his glass from that marvelous hand that had touched her so intimately and placing the wineglass on the mantel.

  Slipping her hands beneath the opening of his unbuttoned jacket, she glided them over his shoulders, tugging off his coat. “You’ve broadened a bit while you were away.”

  “Trekking through the wilds is strenuous work.”

  The jacket began to fall. She caught it before it hit the floor and tossed it onto the nearest chair. Slowly, she freed the buttons of his black waistcoat. “Your skin is darker.”

  “The African sun is harsh.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I could always tell you and Edward apart because he wasn’t nearly as fair as you. Did you blister when you arrived?”

  “No.”

  She eased off the waistcoat, pitched it onto the jacket. Lowering her gaze, she began unknotting his neck cloth.

  “Julia, I’m not certain this is wise.”

  She gave him a speculative look. “To be comfortable?”

  “To tempt me.”

  A thrill shot through her. Yes, they were in mourning, yes, sorrow radiated from him, but she still had power over him. She flung the neck cloth aside and cupped his face between her hands, her fingers dancing along the back of his nec
k. “I missed you so much.”

  She tilted his head down, rose up on her toes and planted her mouth on his. His arm snaked around her, drew her nearer. His tongue slid between her lips as he adjusted the angle and took the kiss deeper. She fairly melted against him.

  Hunger. Urgency. A compelling need. They were all there. In him. In her. As though death hovered nearby, waiting, as though with enough passion and desire they could ward it off. A low growl vibrated through his chest, shimmered through her breasts, which were flattened against the linen of his shirt.

  The heat between them intensified. His hands traveled over her back, her hips, cupped her backside, pressed her ever closer. The hard rigid length of him pushed against her belly, driving her mad with want and desire. It had been so long, too long. Once they knew she was with child, he’d insisted they refrain from any intimacy for fear his ardor might cause her to lose the child. Oh, he’d kissed her, held her, stroked her on occasion, but not like this. Not with this fierce need. She wasn’t certain what they’d shared had ever been as primal as this—­as though he’d returned from his travels uncivilized, in need of taming.

  A knock on the door had him lurching back as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. They were both breathing rapidly, heavily. Horror was reflected in his eyes.

  “My apologies,” he rasped.

  Disappointment slammed into her because he was retreating, was regretting what had just passed between them. “None is needed. You’re my husband.”

  “But the babe.” His gaze dipped to her belly. “Did I hurt the babe?”

  “Your son is a bit stronger than that.” Still, she took a step back as well and bade the servant to enter.

  More than one came in carrying trays bearing an assortment of covered dishes. Julia sat as a maid set a tray in her lap. Albert had retreated back to the fireplace, was gulping his wine with vigor while a young maid set his tray on the low table.