Lord Deverill's Heir, Catherine Coulter [the best motivational books .TXT] 📗

at the sight of her. He could still feel himself hardening as he had kissed her, wanting her more and more each instant, and then he’d asked for her to tell him the truth, just admit to him that she’d lied, that she’d taken the comte for her lover. He even told her he would forgive her, that they would begin again. She’d kicked him but good. And she’d withdrawn from him. Completely.

What else could he offer her? She had betrayed him, not the other way around. Had he betrayed her would she have offered to forgive him? He doubted it very much. She was more strong-willed than his commanding officer in Portugal, and in his eyes, in his soul, she was the perfect mate for him. Except for the comte. Surely the English authorities wouldn’t toss him in gaol if he simply killed the little French bastard.

He watched as Arabella shortened her longer stride to match her mother’s step. He prayed then, prayed hard, that Arabella was apologizing to Lady Ann. Though he couldn’t hear a word, he fancied he saw Arabella smile.

God, he wished he could make her smile at him like that. He shook his head as he turned from the window. He was mad, utterly mad. She had betrayed him. He would ask her again tonight. He would proceed more smoothly, no, he would kiss her again, go very slowly, but make her want him, then ask her. Yes, that was what he would do.

He still wanted very much to kill that bloody comte.

“Good morning, my lord,” Crupper said as he sailed soundlessly into the breakfast parlor.

The earl nodded, then said as he passed the butler, “I shall be in the library. Ah, Crupper, if anyone cares to disturb me, they’re welcome to.” He had not gotten beyond a second column of numbers for spring market prices when Crupper most obligingly entered the library.

“Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne are here to visit, my lord. There is also a gentleman accompanying them—a Lord Graybourn.” The spotty viscount, the earl thought, grinning, the spring market prices forgotten.

“They are in the Velvet Room, Crupper?” He rose and shook out the fine lawn ruffles at his sleeves.

“Yes, my lord. The family are there also.” He sniffed, his left eyebrow twitching. “I might add, my lord, that the young French comte is still here. He appears to be everywhere. It is disconcerting. I cannot like it.

Indeed, I would wish profoundly that he would be gone.”

“We share that opinion. He is leaving on Friday. Contrive to control your ire until then.” Arabella was there in the Velvet Room. He wanted very much to see her.

The earl heard Lady Ann say without guile to the turbaned Lady Talgarth,

“Dear Aurelia, how very kind of you to pay us a visit this morning. I was just saying to Arabella that it is so very nice to have friends.” Lady Ann tried to keep her eyes from straying to Lady Talgarth’s purple satin bosom, an awesome sight, one that made her eyes twitch.

“Ah, here you are, my lord,” Lady Talgarth said in a girlish voice, turning to welcome the earl. “We were showing our dear Lord Graybourn about the countryside. We could not exclude a visit to Evesham Abbey.” The earl lifted her beringed hand and kissed her plump fingers.

A merry smile played about Suzanne Talgarth’s pink lips as she observed the earl. She said softly to Arabella, who stood at her side, “If only poor Lord Graybourn had thought to kiss Mama’s hand. Had he done so, Mama would have forced me to wed the little toad, although,” she added, a small frown on her forehead, “he isn’t as much of a toad as I’d believed he was in London. No, not at all.”

“Here, I forget my manners, my lord, what with you distracting me so obligingly. Yes, I have always liked a gentleman who could distract so nicely.” Lady Talgarth sighed as she finally withdrew her hand from the earl’s, though, in reality, it was she who was holding his hand. “My dear Edmund, allow me to present to you the Earl of Strafford, Justin Deverill.”

The earl saw that Lord Graybourn had not been particularly favored by nature, only by fortune and birth. He was not above medium height, and the extra weight he bore made him look shorter than his actual inches. In five years, he would be fat as a flawn. His eyes were a bit on the protuberant side, but of a pleasant light blue. There was a good deal of intelligence in those eyes, and kindness as well. He affected dandyism, unfortunately, for the heavy jewel-encrusted fobs and rings, the high-starched shirt points, and the fawn breeches that stretched over his ample stomach, did not suit him at all.

Surprisingly, Lord Graybourn had a quite firm, pleasant voice. “A pleasure, my lord. I trust we do not inconvenience you with our visit this morning.”

“Not at all,” the earl said and liked the young man immediately. “It is always a pleasure to see our nearest neighbors.” The earl took the offered hand and pumped it. He drew the viscount forward for introductions to Arabella, Lady Ann, Elsbeth, and finally Gervaise. He found himself smiling as he watched his wife greet the viscount warmly, politely inquiring after his journey from London.

She would not meet his eyes, and he was staring hard at her, damn her stubborn hide. What was she thinking? Was she worried that he wouldn’t still want to forgive her? He found himself looking at her hands—white and smooth, the fingernails short and buffed. Her thumbnail was slightly ragged. That made him smile, just a bit.

As for Gervaise, he appeared to undergo a pronounced foreign transformation. He lisped his greeting to the viscount, who did not understand a word he said, and proffered a deep, flourishing bow reminiscent of the French court of Louis XVI. The viscount, believing such a formal greeting was in deference to his own notable lineage,