Beauty and the Earl Read online

  Yes, his facial scars were ugly. Pretty scars did not exist. And yet—

  Amber saw only Miles. Her husband. Her lover. Her protector. No scars. “Open your eyes.” When he did, she pressed a gentle kiss on his scarred cheek and whispered, “I love you.”

  Miles groaned in relief and pulled her into his arms. His lips captured hers in a kiss that lasted forever. Scooping her into his arms, he placed her on the bed and then lay beside her. “I don’t want to hurt you or—”

  “You will not hurt us,” she said, caressing his scarred cheek.

  Miles gathered her into his embrace. With one large hand on the back of her head and the other clasping her buttocks, he held her steady as he kissed her.

  Amber loved the strength of his arms surrounding her, the heat emanating from his body, the hard planes of his muscles touching her softness. She melted against him, offering herself.

  A primitive possessiveness surged through Miles. This woman was his mate, nurturing his seed inside her womb. She had accepted him unconditionally, seeing past the scars to the man beneath.

  Miles kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. His thrusting tongue mirrored the movement of his hips. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top of him. Amber pushed her tongue past his lips, controlling their kiss.

  With a soft smile on her lips, Amber lowered herself onto his erection. Slowly. Very slowly.

  Miles cupped her breasts and traced his thumb across her sensitive nipples. Amber moaned at the sensation. She reveled in their joining, his body hot and hard inside her. She circled his nipples with her fingers, making them hard.

  “Ride me, wife.”

  And Amber rode him.

  Slowly at first, Amber increased the tempo of her undulations. Staring into his eyes, she felt the melting in her lower regions ready to explode.

  “Surrender to me.” Miles held her hips in a firm grasp and thrust upward.

  Amber flew over pleasure’s precipice. She threw her head back moaning low in her throat, her moist heat contracting around her husband. He shuddered as his seed flooded her.

  Miles held her against his body as they floated back to earth from their shared paradise. His hands stroked her back and buttocks as aftershocks shook her body.

  He tightened his grip when he felt her kiss the side of his throat and again she murmured her love. He wanted to say the words, return her emotion, but stopped himself.

  Saying those three words could jinx them. He knew she needed to hear them, but it was too soon. A piece of his heart believed he would be betraying Brenna’s memory.

  For the first time in four long years, Miles felt his spirits soaring. His wife’s love and acceptance had broken the melancholy chains he had wrapped around his heart.

  He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “We are going to London,” Miles told her. When she looked at him, he added, “I own a town mansion and will give you the funds to decorate to your heart’s content.”

  “My heart is content to remain in Stratford.”

  “Come the spring, you will have grown too big to travel,” Miles said. “I plan to take you to the opera, balls, whist parties, riding in Hyde Park—”

  “Can Caroline come, too?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And we will not stay long?”

  “No.”

  Amber searched his eyes for the truth. “Are you ready for society?”

  “With you beside me, I am ready for anything.”

  “What if Fedor—?”

  “You need never fear your uncle again,” Miles promised her. “If he comes to England, I will kill him.”

  Chapter 12

  They arrived at the Berkeley Square mansion on the evening of October’s first day. All four of Amber’s cousins and Miles’s sister and brother-in-law planned to remain in London for the duration of their visit.

  “Good morning, Just-Pebbles.” Amber walked to the sideboard and helped herself to breakfast the next morning.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” the majordomo greeted her. “Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

  “Tea, I think”

  Amber joined Miles and Caroline at the table. Her husband was reading the morning Times while her stepdaughter pushed scrambled eggs around on her plate.

  Visiting London made Amber nervous, but she decided to make the best of it for her husband’s sake. She would never go anywhere alone and would read the Times each morning for news of Fedor.

  Miles looked up from the newspaper. “What will my two favorite ladies do this morning?”

  “Caroline and I will inspect the health of your garden.” Amber looked at her stepdaughter. “Is that all right with you?”

  The little girl nodded.

  “Later, Caroline and I will bake a happiness cake,” Amber added, and winked at the girl.

  Miles smiled. “How does one bake a happiness cake?”

  “Mix a cup of good deeds with forgiveness and joy,” Caroline told her father, returning her stepmother’s wink.

  “Bake with love,” Amber prompted her.

  “Serve with a blessing and a smile,” Caroline finished.

  “I can’t wait to taste it,” Miles said.

  “What are your plans?” Amber asked.

  “Rudolf is meeting with me here.”

  Amber dropped her gaze to the Times. “Is there anything interesting?”

  Miles turned to the society gossip column on page three and read, “Injured while fighting the fire that claimed his wife, the Earl of Stratford has emerged from his four-year seclusion. The earl will introduce his recent bride, Princess Amber Kazanov, to London society.”

  “The Times mentioned us?” Amber blanched, her stomach flip-flopped, and her hands trembled at the thought that Fedor and Gromeko were in London and knew her whereabouts. “Who told the reporter we were here?”

  Miles turned to his daughter. “Will you do Daddy a favor? Tell Nanny Smart to fetch shawls for Mummy and you.”

  Caroline left the dining room.

  “Rudolf told the reporter about our arrival,” Miles said. “The marriage of a princess and my return to society are newsworthy.”

  “I did not want our presence in London printed in a newspaper. Uncle Fedor will know where to find me.”

  “That is precisely what we thought, too.”

  His statement confused her. “I do not understand.”

  “I will not let anything bad happen to you,” Miles assured her, reaching to cover her hand. “We cannot hide in Stratford forever.”

  Amber yanked her hand back. “You hid in Stratford when doing so suited you.”

  “That is not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Amber asked, rising from her chair. “What threatens me is unimportant?”

  “Wouldn’t you rather live knowing that Fedor posed no threat?”

  “The risk is too great.”

  “Amber . . .” Miles rubbed the uninjured side of his face in frustration.

  “I trusted you to protect me, but you and my cousin have placed me in danger.” Amber started for the door. Miles stood to go after her, but Caroline appeared with the shawls.

  Accompanied by Nanny Smart, Amber and Caroline walked outside to the garden. The trees were depressingly barren, having shed their orange, red, and gold leaves in a recent wind and rainstorm.

  Watching her stepdaughter leap into a pile of dead leaves, Amber wished she could recapture her own youthful exuberance—except that she had never enjoyed such innocent joy. Her mother’s murder had aged her prematurely, and living in her uncle’s home had produced little happiness.

  Amber wandered around the garden, inspecting shrubs and plants. A solitary rosebush appeared doomed from neglect, in urgent need of her ministrations. To that end, she picked its dead leaves but decided to prune it the following day. At the moment, she worried about taking her anger at her husband out on the rosebush.

  * * *

  Miles stood at the wi
ndow in his study and watched his wife and daughter. “Amber would have preferred to hide in Stratford,” he told the prince. “Using her as bait is a betrayal of her trust.”

  “We cannot protect her indefinitely,” Rudolf said, relaxing in a chair. “We need to force Fedor’s hand, assuming he is in England. She will forgive you when her safety is assured.”

  Miles raised his brows at his cousin-in-law. “That is easy for you to say. You aren’t living with an angry, pregnant wife.”

  “You will survive. Did you hear what happened at King’s Bench the other day?”

  “No.”

  “A newly appointed judge found a woman guilty of prostitution but forgot what the punishment was,” Rudolf said, his expression solemn. “He stopped the proceedings and left the courtroom to consult the chief justice, asking how much he should give a prostitute. The chief justice shrugged and told him a few shillings.”

  Miles threw back his head and shouted with laughter.

  “Excuse me, my lord.”

  “Yes, Pebbles?”

  “A gentleman in the foyer is demanding to speak with the princess.”

  “Damn, I forgot about Pushkin when I slipped the reporter that information about your marriage,” Rudolf said.

  Count Sergei Pushkin. His wife’s former suitor. “Tell him the Countess of Stratford is unavailable.”

  Pebbles left the study. Miles and Rudolf sat in silence, neither believing the Russian nobleman would go quietly.

  Pebbles returned. “He refuses to leave.”

  Miles glanced at Rudolf. “Escort him here.”

  Count Sergei Pushkin was tall and broad-shouldered and as handsome as he was big. Piercing gray eyes topped by black brows. A thick mane of black hair on his head. No scars.

  Miles stood when the other man walked into his study but did not offer his hand. He couldn’t help thinking that the count’s dark good looks were the perfect foil for Amber’s petite blondeness. They would have made an extremely attractive couple.

  “I would invite you to sit,” Miles said, “but you won’t be staying.” With those words, the gauntlet dropped.

  Sergei rounded on the prince first. “You swore you had no idea where she was.”

  Rudolf smiled. “I lied.”

  “I demand to speak with Princess Amber,” Pushkin said, turning to Miles.

  “What do you wish to say to my wife?” Miles asked, his expression placid but the hands at his sides clenching into fists.

  “Your marriage cannot be legal.”

  “I assure you it is.”

  “I can vouch for its legality,” Rudolf interjected.

  Pushkin ignored him. “Amber loves me,” he said. “I intend to marry her.”

  “English law prevents my wife from having two husbands.”

  “I want to see her.”

  Miles stared at his rival for a long moment and, like his wife, wished they had remained in Stratford. No matter what he did to prevent their meeting, Pushkin would find a way to speak to her. Amber would be furious when she discovered he had sent the man away.

  “Pebbles.”

  The majordomo rushed into the study. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Send my wife to me.”

  Pebbles inclined his head, cast the count a murderous glare, and left the study.

  * * *

  Her husband wanted to apologize, Amber thought, climbing the stairs to answer his summons. She might have approved of his and her cousin’s plan to draw Fedor out. If she wasn’t the bait. Now she sympathized with the plight of the poor worm dangling on the end of the hook.

  Amber walked into the study and stopped short when she saw Sergei. She dropped her mouth open in surprise and then recovered herself. “Sergei.” She rushed across the room to give him a welcoming hug.

  And then Amber noticed that no one else was smiling. Her husband, her cousin, and her childhood friend appeared ready for battle.

  “Tell me you have not married this,” Sergei glanced at Miles “this English beast.”

  Amber flinched at the insult. She could understand his surprise and even his anger at her sudden marriage, but those were no good reasons for insulting her husband.

  “Why have you come to England?” she asked, stepping away from him.

  “Why? I have come to take you home.”

  Amber regretted hurting her old friend. He must have cared deeply for her, or he would never have left Moscow to look for her.

  “My home is with my husband.”

  Sergei ignored her statement. “Why did you leave Moscow?”

  Amber would not even consider telling him the truth. That would be too humiliating. “Fedor threatened me.”

  “I would have protected you,” Sergei said. “Princess, we have loved each other forever and will annul this hasty marriage. The earl took advantage of you.”

  “I took advantage of the earl.” Amber flicked a glance at her husband. Her angry husband. “Long before I left Moscow, I told you to find another woman to marry. Your mother—”

  “My mother will accept our marriage,” Sergei interrupted her.

  Amber looked at her husband and then her cousin. No help there. They were watching her, waiting for her to get rid of Sergei.

  Guilt and regret filled her. As the Pushkin heir, Sergei had been pampered his whole life and was unused to having his wishes thwarted. She did not believe he would respond to kindness and go quietly.

  On the other hand, Sergei had always been kind to her. Amber could not force herself to the necessary cruelty. He had been her friend—her only friend—since childhood. Yes, he had spoken of marriage, but she had never taken his words of love seriously and had never considered the possibility of a future with him.

  Why was Miles watching this without coming to her aid? For that matter, her cousin was unusually silent.

  “I will not leave,” Amber said, “but you will always hold a special place in my heart.”

  “I want a place in your bed,” Sergei snapped. “Look at him. You cannot possibly love him.”

  Amber stepped back as if he had struck her. His pain did not give him license to lash out at others. Especially her wonderful husband. “You dare enter my home and insult my husband and me,” she said, full-bodied anger sweeping through her.

  “I am upset and do not know what I am saying,” Sergei retreated from his outraged position. “I carry a letter from your father.”

  “My father?”

  Sergei produced a sealed missive and passed it to her. “From Czar Alexander.”

  Amber sat down and, with badly shaking hands, opened the letter:

  Amber, daughter of my heart.

  Running away was wrong. My feelings are hurt that you did not trust me with your problems. If you will return home with Count Pushkin, I will acknowledge you and give my permission for your marriage to the count.

  Your father, Czar Alexander

  Amber bowed her head and wept quietly. She made no protest when her cousin lifted the letter from her hand, read it, and passed it to her husband.

  “This could be a forgery,” Rudolf said.

  “That letter is no forgery.” Sergei knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his. “Come with me now, Princess, and we will marry.”

  Amber raised her head and looked at him through eyes that mirrored her misery. “The czar had twenty years to acknowledge me,” she said, hurt that the offer had come too late. “You have always been a good friend, but I have spoken solemn vows before God.”

  Sergei stared at her for a long moment. “I will remain in London for a time. You will change your mind. If not, we will part as friends.”

  Amber dropped her gaze to her lap and made no reply.

  Rudolf broke the sudden silence. “You said what you came to say.”

  “I will see you again before I go home,” Sergei told her. He looked at Miles. “If you hurt her, I will make you wish for death.”

  Sergei quit the chamber. Rudolf followed him out, leaving the Earl an
d Countess of Stratford alone.

  “I apologize for Sergei,” Amber said, staring at her hands folded in her lap.

  No reply.

  Amber lifted her gaze to her husband. “What are you thinking?”

  Miles stared at her, his dark eyes cold. “I think you left Moscow too soon.”

  Hurt by his words, Amber rose from her chair and quit the study. She walked upstairs to her bedchamber, needing a few private moments to compose herself.

  How had she managed to hurt two men she cared for the most in the world? Sergei had been her childhood friend. Refusing his offer of marriage had hurt him, but she loved her husband and cherished his child growing inside her. Why was he angry that she had remained steadfast to him?

  * * *

  He should never have married her. Miles had seen the way his wife looked at Sergei, recognizing the regret in her gaze. Her reason for rejecting the Russian was less than encouraging. She had spoken her vows before God. No mention of love there. That omission positively screamed her true feelings. She had married him for protection. Her words of love rang false.

  Lifting his hand, Miles stared at the ring she had given him. Why should he wear a gift given by a woman who loved another man? Sliding the ring off his finger, he set it on his dresser. He hoped he could as easily set aside his love for her.

  Grabbing his cravat, Miles crossed his bedchamber to the cheval mirror but paused when he saw his own reflection. He touched his scarred cheek. No beard grew on the scars, and one side of his mouth drooped slightly. Luckily, he had not lost an eye.

  If only he had never removed his mask in her presence. If only she had never seen his scars. Would he have had a chance to keep her love? Only God knew the answer to that. Miles knew one thing for certain. His scars prevented him from competing against the handsome Russian.

  Amber had woven a magical spell around him. Her exquisite beauty, her unconditional acceptance, her sweet words of love had conspired to enslave him. To make him forget his scars. To make him miserable.

  There were no happily-ever-afters in life. He should have known better.