Page 33 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
When a lady had his attention, she had all of it.
“We should probably go in,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“The fog should roll in soon,” he continued.
She nodded again, not at all anxious to leave, wanting to explore what was happening between them without any words, as though they were communicating on a more primal level. Her heart thumped erratically, and she desperately wanted him to lean in and kiss her.
Was he nearer? Was he going—
“It’s late,” he said, abruptly standing and breaking the spell.
For an insane moment, she almost flung her arms around him, lifted up onto her toes, and kissed him. He’d said he no longer wanted her, even though his recent actions seemed to indicate otherwise. But if he rebuffed her, she’d die of mortification.
He gave a low whistle, and she heard the rustling of plants as the dog limped out and fell into step beside his master. She was amazed at the consideration Westcliffe gave Cooper, his steps shorter, slower.
“Why not carry him?” she asked.
“When stairs are involved I do. Otherwise, well, the old boy has some pride.”
Like you, she thought. She’d never considered before what it had cost him to need her dowry, then to find his brother in her bed. How was it that in only a few nights, she was coming to understand him far better than she had in all the years that had come before?
Chapter 10
Dinner was a dreadfully dull affair. He wondered why he’d never before noticed. The only noise was the occasional scraping of silver over china. He was half tempted to suggest Anne hire an orchestra for his next visit. He could hardly countenance that he missed the incessant chattering when he dined with Claire and Beth although he knew it was the laughter that most pleased him. Claire was releasing it more frequently. Sometimes it resembled the tinkling of crystal chandeliers caught in a slight breeze, and other times it sounded as though it rose from the well of her soul.
He’d not expected to miss it so much when he’d decided to join Anne for dinner this evening. He’d been neglecting her, and the guilt had begun to gnaw at him. She’d not asked for this intrusion on their plans for the Season.
“We could go to Paris,” she suddenly said, and he jerked his attention away from the wine that was almost the red of Claire’s lips, realizing with regret that although he was in attendance, he was still managing to neglect his paramour.
“We could go to Paris,” she repeated as though she understood that he’d not been paying attention. “Your wife and her sister can stay in your residence, have their Season, and we’ll return when they’re on their way back to the cows.”
“Is that your opinion regarding my estate?”
“I did not mean to insult. I’ve never been to your estate, so I have no opinion of it.” She gave him a smile. “Paris?”
“I can’t. I have matters I need to see to here.”
He watched as displeasure crossed her face. She began slathering butter on her bread. “Then stay with me in my residence while she’s in London.”
“I’ll not have her chase me out of my own house,” he said. He’d paid a high price to possess it.
“I doubt you want me to be jealous either.” She set her bread on the plate, and the knife clattered beside it. “I don’t like that she’s here. Already, our time together has been diminished.” She heaved a sigh. “Perhaps I should have her to dinner.”
For some inexplicable reason, Westcliffe’s gut tightened. “I have no desire to flaunt what we have in front of her.”
“You worry about hurting her?” He said nothing, and Anne laughed. “You could only hurt her if she cared for you, which she does not.”
He ignored her biting words. The one thing he could say about Anne was that she was not demure. She was the most carnal creature he’d ever known, up for trying anything. Her sexuality always shimmered just below the surface, and it took very little to spark it to life. She credited his skills in the bedchamber, but he suspected it had more to do with her adventuresome spirit and the fact that she possessed no inhibitions at all.
She picked up her wineglass and swirled the red contents. “You will stay the night, won’t you?”
“Not tonight, no.”
“Then you’d best send me a very nice trinket tomorrow.” She rose and, with a swish of angry skirts, began to walk from the room.
Reaching out, he grabbed her arm. “Anne—”
