Beauty and the Earl Read online

  She looked around the wide hallway at the bottom of the stairs. There were many doors and many rooms to explore, so she chose the first one on her right to start with. It was a parlor, though not the one she had been guided to upon her first visit. Like Liam’s bedroom, the room was rather sparse, with minimal decoration and plain furniture. Strange, since his sister had a sense of style. And yet Liam went as minimal as he could in his home.

  She walked from the room to the next in the hallway and caught her breath. This was an office, likely Liam’s office, judging from the paperwork stacked on the desk, waiting to be addressed. A parlor couldn’t tell her much, but this room most definitely could.

  She moved inside and walked the perimeter of the room slowly. Again, there was little to see and only the work indicated someone bothered to live here at all. There was no art, plain paint colors, the furniture seemed comfortable, but there was nothing with personality to be seen here. It was as if he had come into this house and stripped everything of value and joy out.

  Her breath hitched at the thought. It seemed like the man wanted to be wrapped in the pain his past had created. As if he shunned anything that might help him move forward in his life.

  Once again, Violet thought of his sister and the fear in her eyes when she spoke of him. Lady Rothcastle feared for his future. At the time, Violet had simply filed the information away, but now she wondered…

  Was Liam even thinking about a future? Did he believe he would be around for one? Or was his cutting off of everything good around him a symptom of something far more sinister and fearful?

  She shivered and pushed those thoughts aside, though she knew she would be watching him far more closely from now on. She stepped up to his desk and looked at the papers there. They were estate business, mostly. A few pieces of correspondence that looked like they had gone unanswered for a while. She was about to turn away when she saw something else.

  There was a small framed portrait on the corner of the desk. She reached out, taking it from its stand and turning it toward her.

  It was a woman whose picture was in the frame. The artist had rendered her in a seated position, half turned toward him. She was beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She had a half-smile on her face that was just a touch mischievous.

  It was evident who she was, even if Violet hadn’t just met her brother less than a week ago. This was Lady Matilda. The woman who was the center of—and a casualty of—a war.

  Violet stared at her, so lifelike in this portrait. No wonder she had been so loved. There was just something about her.

  “Put it back.”

  She jumped at the voice behind her and spun around to find Liam standing in the doorway. His face was red and his good hand clenched at his side, while he held the injured one in front of him, as if he could guard his heart with the broken, scarred extremity.

  Slowly, she set the picture down as she had been told.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, moving away from the desk. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “But you did,” he hissed out on a short breath.

  She hesitated, drawn in by the rich, profound emotion on his face. He was angry with her, but also with himself, and she also saw a brief glimpse of a deep well of sadness within him. Her throat seized, and she longed to reach out, but it was evident he would not allow it. He was still too closed off.

  She thought again of Scheherazade and wondered what that fictional queen would do in this tense moment.

  “You know, I am shocked you haven’t questioned me more about why I came here,” she said, moving away from Matilda’s picture step by step, hoping to create distance between the past and the present.

  His brow wrinkled, and confusion replaced the other emotions on his face. Not that she could blame him. Most people would have pressed him on what had just happened. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I thought you were just on holiday,” he said after a long pause where he seemed to gather himself.

  She smiled, passing him to exit his office and go instead to a parlor across the hall. He followed her, his expression still wary and tense.

  “I was on holiday,” she admitted. Lied. “But when I found out you were in Bath, I pursued you, didn’t I?”

  He nodded. “You did indeed. You think I am not curious about that fact?”

  She laughed. “If you are, you have hidden it well.”

  He shook his head. “Very well, Miss Milford, tell me. Why did you pursue me?”

  She bit her lip. “I had heard you were a prolific lover, which is true. But I also heard other things. The loggerheads you and I have been at in your bed about control, the challenge you have presented me with to surrender to your will…your rumored dominance intrigued me. As I told you, my other lovers have always deferred to me.”

  She watched him shift and change with this new, safer topic. The way he watched her was so possessive, like she was already his but hadn’t yet realized it.

  It wasn’t true, but it was oh-so-alluring regardless.

  “You want the surrender I demand?” he asked, his tone very rough.

  She turned on him and met his gaze evenly. “I am intrigued by it, yes. But I’m afraid you would have to teach me how, for my nature is to seduce and claim and take, just as yours is. But the idea of bending and giving and even breaking is—”

  She might have finished that thought, but behind them a servant appeared, clearing his throat. “My lord, Miss Milford, supper is served.”

  Violet smiled. She could not have planned the timing better. An interruption at the height of seduction would drive Liam mad all through supper until they could be alone again and she could further delve into the dangerous topic that truly did intrigue her.

  And she could only imagine what he would do once they were alone after hours of pondering her utter surrender to his every whim.

  A servant placed a plate before him, but Liam hardly noticed the steaming, fragrant delicacies prepared for his liking and the liking of his guests. Just as he had done during the previous courses of the meal, all he could do was stare down the table at Violet and think of the scandalous things she had said just an hour before.

  Had she brought up his dominance and her interest in such topics simply to make him forget he had found her in his office, holding a portrait of Matilda?

  And even if she had…did he care? He was still wrapped up in the idea of taming Violet. Of bringing her to heel and making her give over control in every way.

  She was such a bold woman that he realized how much of a sacrifice surrender would be, yet she seemed to welcome his dominance.

  But he only had a few weeks with Violet at best. What they discussed would take far longer. It would involve earning her trust on a deep, physical and emotional level. And that wasn’t something he ever intended to do.

  Frustration bloomed in his chest, and he swept up his fork with a grumble of discontent and took a bite of food.

  Oblivious to his thoughts, Violet’s friend Olivia hummed with pleasure as she did the same.

  “You do have a splendid cook, my lord,” she said. “I envy you these delicious meals every single day and night.”

  Liam looked up to answer, but it didn’t appear as if his answer was required. Mal was speaking for him, leaning closer to Olivia and making his interest in the pretty, petite blonde very clear.

  “Wait until you taste dessert, pet,” he murmured.

  Liam jolted. It was entirely inappropriate for his man to be so familiar with a woman at his table. More than that, it was entirely unexpected. Mal never took an interest in women beyond a fulfillment of his physical needs. He was too wrapped up in his duties.

  But right now Mal didn’t seem capable of breaking his gaze from Olivia’s.

  “How long have you worked for Liam?” Violet asked, arching a brow at her friend as if to encourage her to tone down the physical expression of her attraction.

  Mal jolted and straightened up. “Windbury and I have been
friends since…” He shook his head and cast a quick glance toward Liam. “School, I suppose. We’ve been friends for years and I began managing his estates when—”

  He cut himself off, and Liam shifted. Mal had taken over some of his estate business when the accident happened. When he had been too injured and emotionally gutted to do anything but drown in laudanum and anger.

  Mal had seen him through the worst and Liam appreciated it. He didn’t appreciate the fact Mal had very nearly revealed that truth to strangers. Although Violet didn’t feel much like a stranger to him anymore.

  Olivia continued to ignore the tension in the room and reached out to squeeze Malcolm’s arm.

  “Violet and I have also been friends for an age, haven’t we?”

  Violet cleared her throat, her gaze held firmly on Liam’s face, trying to read him. Irritation sluiced through him. This was why he didn’t keep company, this constant appraisal and talking and dancing around topics.

  “We have,” she said. “I think it is lucky that both I, and Lord Windbury, have had such good friends.”

  “Foolish as they may be,” Liam grumbled.

  His short dismissal made Mal look at him sharply.

  “And now we’ve all met thanks to those friendships,” Olivia continued, her attention still on Mal. “We’re lucky indeed.”

  His friend seemed torn now, looking back and forth between the man he’d called brother for years and the woman he clearly wanted to fuck. To Liam’s surprise, it was the girl who won in the turmoil, and Mal’s lips turned up in a smile as he leaned closer.

  “Very lucky.”

  Liam pushed his chair back with a screech and every person in the room swiveled their heads to look at him. He clenched his napkin in his hand and stared at the group at his table. This all felt like a game to him.

  And he was no longer capable of playing it.

  He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. So he threw his napkin across his plate and left the room without so much as a glance behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Violet flinched as the room sat in stunned silence for a moment after Liam’s departure. His sudden anger and inability to control that reaction worried her. What troubled her more was the idea that she had caused it by her intrusion on his office earlier that day.

  Liam was on the edge. She had now seen him balancing there. Once that happened, she couldn’t see anything else or do anything but fear the consequences for him in the future.

  Olivia leaned back in her chair. “His ill-humor is impressive. I didn’t mean to bother him with my silly chatter.”

  Mal shook his head, staring at the door where his friend had departed. Violet explored his face carefully. He was worried about Liam—the lines of concern were deep in his handsome face. It made her own trepidations all the sharper and more in focus.

  “I apologize, ladies,” Malcolm finally managed. “My friend has been a little...rough since his accident. And he doesn’t keep company often, probably because his emotions can overtake him when he isn’t expecting it. I think the reality of being around others remains troublesome to him.”

  “He was hard on you,” Olivia pressed, reaching out a hand to cover Mal’s.

  Now she wasn’t flirtatious, but comforting. Violet couldn’t help but be surprised at that shift. Normally Olivia was all about fun. Her expression of other emotions, especially with men, was vastly limited, and purposefully so.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes he lashes out. I can ignore it most times, though we do occasionally have words if he takes things too far. I have been through the worst with him and seen him when I thought he might—”

  Malcolm cut himself off and his face twisted with pain and worry and deep sadness. He took a breath before he continued, “I understand Windbury’s motives for lashing out. Though I admit, he can be harsh.”

  Violet tilted her head. “And yet you stay with him.”

  Mal looked at her, his face clear of any judgment of his friend. Any anger. “He needs me.”

  She flinched. Need. Yes, Liam had needs, that was crystal clear. And she was exploiting them for the bargain she had made with his sister and brother-in-law. Even now, questioning his friend was as much an exercise to wheedle more information about the enigmatic man she pursued as it was because of her own interest.

  What a person she was to do such a thing, whatever her ultimate motives might be.

  She pushed her plate away and folded her hands on the table before her. “I would like to follow him, talk to him,” she said, looking at Mal.

  He drew back. “I warn you, he will likely be inhospitable.”

  She swallowed. “Yes. But if his anger comes from pain, then he may need company, even if he refuses to acknowledge that fact to any of us. He may desire a friend, if you don’t mind my offering myself in that position instead of you.”

  “Is that what you want to be to him? A friend?” Mal asked, tone carefully neutral.

  There was an immediate reaction inside of Violet. A screaming voice that said yes to that question so loudly that it shook her. But she pushed it away, pushed it far down. She couldn’t afford it—she had other people to think about.

  “If he would allow it,” she whispered, hating the catch to her voice.

  Mal looked her up and down. Yes, he still maintained a detachment from her, his questions about her purpose lingered in his dark eyes. But he lifted his eyebrows in acquiescence nonetheless.

  “Actually, Miss Milford, I think what you offer may be what he needs more than anything I can provide. If you want to follow him, I would assume his office is where he will lick his wounds. It generally is.”

  She frowned as she got to her feet. Their encounter there before supper now felt even more like an intrusion.

  “Good evening, you two. If I don’t see you again, I hope you enjoy your dessert.”

  Olivia caught her hand and looked at her with concern as she passed her friend.

  “Are you certain?” she asked softly.

  Violet hesitated. She was not certain. But this was her course. She could not vary it when so much was at stake.

  “Of course,” she said with a smile far brighter than she felt. “Good night.”

  She left the room, her hands shaking as she made her way back to the office where she had encountered Liam earlier. The door was closed, a clear, ominous message that he wished to be left alone. She stared at the barrier that now separated them. She could turn and walk away. She could continue her plan without going inside.

  She could do all those things, but she lifted her hand and knocked anyway.

  Silence greeted her, another message to leave him alone. Another message she ignored as she opened the door and stepped inside.

  The fire had burned down, dimming the lights in the room, and Liam hadn’t lit a lamp, so it took her a moment to find him in the big room. He wasn’t at his desk or the chair by his fire.

  He stood in front of the massive picture window across the room, standing and staring into the inky black nothingness outside. He had removed his jacket, tossing it across a chair before the fire.

  “I didn’t give you leave to enter,” he said. “Can’t you leave well enough alone, Mal?”

  “It’s not Mal,” she said softly.

  He pivoted and stared at her in surprise. The scar slashed across his lean, angular face was bright in the firelight, but that wasn’t what she noticed. She more saw how his face was filled with emotions: anger, sadness, regret. They were written across every line and every curve. And she wanted, so desperately, to erase them in that moment. To find a way to make him whole again.

  That realization nearly had her turning on her heel and running, not just from the room, but from his house, her bargain be damned. She didn’t want to take care of this man. She didn’t want to get close to him or think of him or wonder what made him who he was.

  “Why did you come?” he asked, his voice rough and barely carrying.

  She blinked. “I-I don�
�t know,” she admitted, the truth spilling from her lips before she could fashion an adequate lie. “I was worried about you.”

  Again, the truth rather than a manipulation. Her heart pounded and her hands shook as she forced herself to step into the room and shut the door behind her. She had gone too far to run now. She had to calm down and put herself back on track.

  A rather humorless smile turned his lips up slightly. “Ah yes, everyone worries about me, don’t they? It is almost a household pastime.”

  “You give them reason to do so,” she said quietly. She moved forward and stopped at his desk. She couldn’t help but notice that the portrait of Matilda had been removed from view. As if her touching it had spoiled it somehow and forced him to hide it.

  Why that stung, she didn’t want to consider.

  “I suppose I do,” he said, shaking his head as he turned back toward the window. “I would like to ask you a question, Violet.”

  She swallowed hard before she said, “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

  “I rather doubt that,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. She tensed further but was not allowed to reply, for he continued speaking. “Why don’t you comment on my sister or my troubled past or my accident? Hell, you don’t even coo over my scar. Women always do that during their ‘seductions’. They stroke and mewl and pity me.”

  She stepped closer. “And you feel their expressions of concern aren’t true.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and pursed his lips. “No.”

  When he turned away, she gasped in a breath. Guilt swelled in her, so powerful that it nearly took her off her feet, but she forced that reaction away. If she did her duty, she would not only help herself but very likely help him as well.

  At least that was what she kept telling herself.

  “I know full well about your past,” she began, somehow managing to wrestle free of her emotions and refocus on matters at hand. “Your accident, your family’s feud with the family of your sister’s husband and your eventual break with her after she married your greatest enemy…all of that is the stuff of legend, even in my lowly circles.”