Page 34 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
She looked down on him with the damned tears wallowing and threatening to spill over. He slipped his free hand into his jacket pocket, removed a velvet box, and set it on the table. “I will make everything up to you. I promise.”
Capitulating quickly, she snatched up the box and opened it to reveal a diamond choker. “You do have such good taste.” She slid her gaze to him. “You will understand if I must mope for a bit.”
She glided from the room, and he was left to wonder why it was suddenly so difficult to appease two women: one he wished to be with, the other he did not. It should have been simple.
Instead, it seemed remarkably complicated.
During the fourth afternoon following Beth’s arrival, she was presented at court—their father’s rank having guaranteed her a presentation. The following days included a whirlwind of activity. In spite of the fact that she’d brought three trunks, Beth had bemoaned her lack of a truly exquisite gown for the first ball she’d attend. It had taken little to cajole Westcliffe into agreeing to purchase one for her—on the condition that Claire had one sewn as well. She’d not bothered to argue against it because on further reflection, following the night in the garden, she’d determined the gowns she did possess were sadly out of style. She’d also become determined to garner her husband’s attention, and for that she required an arsenal of flattering clothing. The dressmaker and her ladies were working diligently to ensure that all the items purchased were finished as quickly as possible. So she and Beth spent a portion of their days involved in fittings. Then they shopped for hats and gloves and shoes.
Claire couldn’t deny the joy it brought her to see Beth so hopeful and happy. But the first ball would be the true indication regarding her likelihood of finding a suitor.
Having only just awakened from a short nap, she had Judith assist her with her dress and hair. She was grateful for how busy she was helping Beth prepare for her Season. Westcliffe was often off seeing to business during the day. The evenings were a strange mixture. With rare exception, he joined them for dinner. What most surprised her was his tolerance of Beth’s company. On occasion, he would play chess with her. More often she entertained them with the pianoforte. On the few evenings when he did leave the residence, it was always late—after Beth was abed. Claire would lie in her bed listening for his return. Some nights, he was as quiet as … the grave. And others he was as loud as an ox. On those nights she suspected him of being three sheets to the wind.
They’d settled into a comfortable tolerance. But since the night in the garden, she never found herself alone with him. Not for want of trying on her part. Strange to think that in such a short time, she had no desire at all to avoid his company. He still scowled too often, was far more serious than she thought any person should be, but she couldn’t deny that he intrigued her.
After Judith finished arranging her hair, Claire walked down to Beth’s bedchamber, only to discover it empty. Beth had obviously awoken from her nap sometime earlier. With a few discreet inquiries to servants she passed in the hallways, she picked up her pace and headed toward the library. As many times as she’d told Beth not to bother Westcliffe when he was there, her sister seemed intent upon not listening. She didn’t seem to comprehend that if she fell out of his favor, her Season would come to an abrupt end.
But as she neared the open library door, she was as annoyed as she was surprised by the laughter, deep and masculine, floating out through it. Annoyed because it was not a sound he shared freely with her. Surprised because it was rich with the enjoyment of life.
Entering the library, she came up short at the sight of her sister waving her fan in front of her face, opening it, closing it, touching it to Westcliffe’s shoulder.
“Please,” she pleaded.
His eyes crinkling, he smiled and shook his head. Had she ever seen him so relaxed, so obviously enjoying himself? “The ones I know are not ones with which you need to become familiar.” His gaze suddenly shot past her to land on Claire, and her heart began a strange gallop. “Ask your sister.”
Beth glanced back at her, rolled her eyes, and released an impatient sigh. “She’ll be of no help. She didn’t have a Season. She knows nothing of flirtation.”
She grew uncomfortable under his formidable gaze. He studied her as though he’d just discovered something profound.
“So what are you two about?” Claire finally asked, anything to break the tension that was mounting.
“I’m trying to learn the language of the fan, and your husband won’t help. Claims he doesn’t know anything that a respectable woman would use.”
“I suspect that’s true.” She forced a lightheartedness into her voice, and, based upon the sudden twitch of his mouth, she suspected he appreciated what she wasn’t saying. That respectable women were not his forte. “But you are in luck, dear sister, because I do know various messages that the position of a fan can convey.”
“Truly. That surprises me.” But even as she spoke, Beth extended her closed fan.
“Just because I didn’t have a Season doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared.” What she wasn’t prepared for, however, was her husband hitching up one hip and settling on the corner of his desk, as though anticipating a show. “Come, Beth. I’m certain my husband is busy. We should adjourn to the parlor where—”
“Stay. Present your lesson here. Perhaps I’ll learn something,” he said laconically.
“I find it difficult to believe that you don’t already know everything you need to know about the fan.”
“As I confessed to Beth, nothing I know about it would be used in polite society.” His eyes held a challenge and a glint of amusement.
With a flick of her wrist, she opened the fan and quickly closed it. “You are cruel.”
His expression darkened. “Am I?”
She’d thought him so in the beginning, because he’d seemed so hard and unforgiving, but he’d done nothing to make Beth’s stay unpleasant. Even her own was no longer as difficult as she’d anticipated. He possessed a kindness she’d not envisioned. She swallowed hard. “That’s what the gesture conveys.”
“Why would I ever use that?” Beth asked.
“Because some men are cruel. They take advantage and hurt you.”
“I should think that if they took advantage or
hurt me, that waving a fan at them would be the very last thing I’d want to do,” Beth said. “I believe I’d very much prefer to punch them.”
