Beauty and the Earl Page 21

  “I would never say disapprove, my lord. I would say that I dislike her in the extreme.”

  Miles knew that Vanessa was hunting as soon as she stepped into the room. Her smile was seductive and her bodice cut too low for an afternoon call.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Miles asked, standing at her entrance. “Do you have urgent news for me?”

  “I desperately need your financial advice.” Vanessa advanced on him, her hips swaying.

  Miles felt like a Russian waiting for Napoleon’s attack. He saw the determined gleam in her eyes, but she would leave as disappointed as Napoleon retreating before the Russian winter.

  Vanessa gestured for him to sit. He realized his mistake when she circled the desk to perch close to him.

  Miles caught her gardenia scent and recalled the pleasurable moments passed in her company. Looking at her now, he could not remember what had attracted him.

  Miles leaned back in his chair to put distance between them. “Ask away.”

  “I have been considering investing in thoroughbreds,” Vanessa told him.

  Miles raised his brows. “Have you developed an interest in racing?”

  “Whatever happened to us?” She changed the subject so abruptly, he needed a moment to leap from one thought to another.

  “You married Stanton, and I married Brenna.”

  Vanessa sighed dramatically. “We were so good together and could be again.”

  He wasn’t even tempted.

  Miles stared at her, wondering how to let her down gently. Society affairs were common enough, but not for him. Never for him. Still, there was no good reason for unnecessary cruelty.

  “I have given the Stantons their heir and secured the estates,” Vanessa said. “I have no need to marry at the moment. Your Russian princess is a child, a dishcloth when compared to me.”

  Miles smiled in spite of the situation. “Modesty was never your strong suit.”

  Vanessa gave him a feline smile. “I believe in honesty.”

  “And so do I.” Miles stood. “Your interest flatters me, but I love my wife and intend to remain faithful to her.”

  “Your lips say no, but your eyes say yes.” Vanessa gave him a smoldering look. “I want your stallion to cover my mare . . .”

  * * *

  “Good afternoon, Your Highness,” the majordomo greeted her, opening the front door. “Let me take your packages.”

  “Thank you, Just-Pebbles.” Amber let him lift the packages from her arms. “Where is my husband?”

  “His Lordship is in his office,” Pebbles answered. “The Countess of Tewksbury is conferring with him.”

  Lady Gardenia? She would put an end to this conference.

  Amber marched across the foyer, missing the majordomo’s satisfied smile, and climbed the stairs to her husband’s office. She reached for the doorknob but paused when she heard the countess’s voice.

  “I want your stallion to cover my mare . . .”

  There was no mistaking the meaning of those words. The tart had come into her own home to seduce her husband.

  Amber took a deep breath and prepared for battle. She walked inside without invitation, completely missing her husband’s relieved expression. At least, the two were not locked in an embrace.

  “Lady Stanton, what a surprise to find you here,” Amber said.

  “I had business with Miles.”

  “Regarding what?”

  “An investment I’m considering. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think.”

  The other woman’s confidence slipped a notch. “Miles and you must attend my costume ball,” Vanessa said, walking toward the door. “I will be expecting you.”

  “I’ll escort you downstairs,” Miles said.

  Amber watched the two of them leave, walked upstairs to her bedchamber, and sat on the edge of her bed. She had no choice about competing with his first wife but had no intention of allowing Ladies Jasmine, Rose, and Gardenia to upset her domestic tranquility.

  The door opened, admitting her husband.

  “You are not taking her home?”

  Miles sat beside her on the bed. “I was as surprised as you to see Vanessa in my office.”

  Amber believed him. No sane man entertained women in his wife’s home. Besides, she had stolen the note.

  Miles reached into his pocket, produced a sealed letter and offered it to her. “This arrived earlier.”

  Feeling guilty about her own crimes, Amber stared at the letter as if it could bite. Finally, she lifted it from his hand. The letter was addressed to her.

  “Open it.”

  Amber opened the letter. It said:

  Please forgive my lapse in good judgment. I spoke about your family without considering the consequences and regret hurting my dearest friend.

  Yours always,

  Sergei

  Amber offered the letter to Miles. “Sergei apologizes for spreading gossip.”

  “I trust you, darling,” Miles said, “and do not need to read your mail.”

  His words made her feel worse than she already did.

  “Do you think you will ever trust me?” he asked.

  “I trust you now.”

  “I know you intercepted my mail.”

  Amber looked him straight in the eye. “I trust you, but I do not trust those women.”

  Miles laughed, much to her relief, and drew her into his arms. “I have no interest in any other woman.”

  Amber leaned closer, offering her mouth. Their breaths mingled. Their lips touched.

  “I want your stallion to cover my mare,” she whispered.

  Miles laughed in her face. “Shall we attend her costume party as a stallion and a mare?”

  “I will dress as Little Bo Peep,” Amber said, “and you will play the randy old ram.”

  “How do you know about Little Bo Peep?”

  “I read about her in Caroline’s storybook.”

  “How about it, Princess?” Miles gently set her back on the bed and leaned over her. “Will you let my stallion cover your mare?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Chapter 16

  “I wish tomorrow was tonight,” Amber said, slipping her stockinged feet into gold sandals. “Then we would be riding to Stratford instead of dressing for Vanessa Stanton’s costume ball.”

  “You don’t like London,” Miles said.

  “I prefer Stratford,” she answered. “I want to hold our baby in my arms.”

  Amber was uncomfortable about attending the party, feeling something bad would happen. She had begged her husband to leave London today, but he had insisted the hour was too late for traveling, and the staff needed to finish packing. Tomorrow would be soon enough for returning home.

  “We will need to wait more than five months to hold our baby,” Miles reminded her. “By the way, are there any blue blankets and buntings left in London?”

  “I do not believe I missed any.” Amber smiled at him. “London’s newborn boys will be wearing pink for a few months.”

  Miles laughed at that. “What an insult to their manhood.”

  Amber inspected her husband up and down. As Satan, Miles had dressed completely in black.

  “You look diabolical.”

  “You look angelic.”

  Dressed as an angel, Amber wore a white silk gown with flowing sleeves shaped like a bell. Attached to the back of her gown were two small wings fashioned from swan feathers. A rhinestone tiara served as a halo, and a white demi-mask covered the top half of her face. Her reticule was gold, and her fan, when opened, had been painted like a harp.

  “How many swans died for your wings?”

  “Madam Janette told me the feathers came from deceased swans.”

  “When did those swans become deceased?”

  Amber looked appalled. “I told her not to hurt any birds.”

  “I am teasing you,” Miles said. “Madam Janette would never even hurt a flea . . . A de
fenseless swan maybe.”

  The ride to Vanessa Stanton’s estate on the outskirts of London took less than an hour. Inside the foyer, they met Rudolf and Samantha dressed as Romeo and Juliet.

  “You make a lovely angel,” Rudolf greeted her.

  Amber inspected her cousin from his velvet doublet to his pantaloons and tight leg hose. “What attractive legs you have,” she said, then giggled.

  “I love the codpiece,” Miles said, falling in with his wife’s merriment “Did you pad it?”

  “I assure you,” Samantha answered, “my husband did not pad the codpiece.”

  “If we are finished discussing my private body parts,” Rudolf said, “perhaps we could attend the party.”

  Dressed as Marie Antoinette, Vanessa Stanton greeted them almost as soon as they walked into the crowded ballroom. She wore a white wig and a scandalous gown that exposed the top of her breasts almost to her nipples.

  The Countess of Tewksbury was definitely prowling for a lover.

  “How sweet you look,” Vanessa complimented Amber, her gaze fixed on Miles. “You, my lord, look divinely diabolical, tempting enough to follow through the gates of you-know-where. Oh, you’ve brought Romeo and Juliet with you.”

  “Are you an apparition?” Amber asked, making her husband smile.

  The other woman’s gracious expression slipped. “I am Queen Marie Antoinette.”

  “The late French queen died before my time.” Amber leaned close to her husband, asking, “Will you dance with me?”

  “I would love to dance with my wife.”

  Miles escorted Amber onto the dance floor. She stepped into his arms, but could not stop herself from peeking at her own bosom. Compared with the countess, she was certainly lacking.

  When her husband laughed, Amber lifted her gaze to his. “What do you find so amusing?”

  “You.”

  “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “Please do.”

  Amber danced next with Prince Rudolf. “I do not see Viktor, Mikhail, or Stepan in attendance,” she said, as they swirled around the ballroom.

  “Stepan is missing,” Rudolf said. “Miss Flambeau is also missing.”

  That surprised Amber. “Have they gone away together? Miss Flambeau refused to become Stepan’s you know.”

  “My baby brother snatched the lady in an effort to change her mind,” Rudolf said. “Though Stepan did mention the word marriage in connection with the opera singer. As for the other two, Mikhail is out of town, and Viktor preferred passing the evening at White’s.”

  Amber was surprised and relieved that Vanessa was keeping her distance from Miles. Dressed like a pirate, Sergei Pushkin arrived. And there was Princess Adele, clinging to the Earl of Langley.

  “Princess Adele did not wear a costume,” Amber said, “and neither did the Earl of Langley.”

  “Adele insisted on dressing as a whore and Langley as a jackass,” Rudolf said. “That is the reason they look as usual.”

  Amber giggled. “That is really too bad of you, cousin.”

  Rudolf grinned. “You are leaving for Stratford in the morning?”

  “I would have preferred to remain in Stratford.” Amber blushed, adding, “Thank you for bringing me to Miles. I love him.”

  “You are very welcome.” Rudolf escorted her off the dance floor. “No one deserves happiness more than you and Montgomery. I only regret not flushing Fedor out of his hole.”

  Amber patted his hand. “I believe Fedor remained in Moscow. He must have realized how protected I would be.”

  Amber danced with her husband, her cousin, several of her husband’s acquaintances, and the Duke of Inverary. After supper, Vanessa Stanton cornered Miles and insisted upon a dance. Only then did Sergei approach.

  “I have wanted to speak privately all evening,” Sergei said in Russian. “Can you ever forgive my insensitivity?”

  Recognizing the misery couched in his eyes, Amber softened her gaze on him. Regret for losing her childhood friend swelled in her heart. From her earliest memory, Sergei had supported and defended and protected her. She had repaid him by marrying another man.

  “I am leaving soon for Moscow,” Sergei told her. “Will you walk with me in the garden, so I may bid you a private farewell? We may never see each other again.”

  Amber glanced in her husband’s direction. He was otherwise occupied with Vanessa Stanton. “Yes, I will walk with you in the garden.”

  Sergei and Amber stepped outside the French doors onto the balcony. Then they descended the stone stairs into the garden. The pathways were deserted, the guests preferring to remain within during this season of the year.

  “Are you cold?” Sergei asked.

  Amber shook her head. “I am sorry you traveled across Europe only to be disappointed.”

  Sergei paused and turned her to face him. “I love you, Princess. If you are happy, then I am happy.”

  Amber felt tears welling up in her eyes and then heard a sound behind her. Seeing Sergei’s gaze shift, she started to turn around, but a hand holding a cloth covered her mouth and nose. An arm encircled her body and lifted her off the ground.

  Caught off guard, Amber could not cry for help. She struggled to escape the foul-smelling cloth, her legs flailing in the air.

  And then she lost consciousness.

  * * *

  Dancing with Vanessa, Miles scanned the ballroom for his wife. He knew the moment Amber and Sergei stepped outside.

  Through force of will, Miles stopped himself from acting impulsively. His first instinct was to go after them, but common sense prevailed.

  The Russian had been his wife’s childhood friend. If she wanted to steal a private moment to bid the man farewell, he could accept that. She would be returning to Stratford with him and, in a few months, deliver their child. Sergei was the loser, not he.

  Ten minutes passed. And then another ten. His wife had been gone too long for a final farewell. Miles left the ballroom by way of the French doors and descended the balcony’s stone staircase. He walked down a deserted path.

  “Amber!”

  No answer.

  Miles felt the first twinges of apprehension. Searching the other paths would be a waste of time. If his wife was in the garden, she would have answered him.

  Unless she wants to stay hidden.

  Miles returned inside to search the ballroom. Next came the cardroom where Rudolf and Samantha sat with the Duke and Duchess of Inverary.

  “I can’t find Amber,” Miles told them.

  “I will look in the ladies’ withdrawing room,” Samantha said, rising from her chair.

  She returned a few minutes later and shook her head. “She isn’t there.”

  “When did you last see her?” Rudolf asked, rising from his chair, preparing to search the house and grounds.

  “I saw her and Sergei Pushkin leave the ballroom for the garden,” Miles answered.

  “Lord Montgomery?”

  Both men turned to see the Stanton majordomo. “Lady Montgomery asked me to tell you that she will see you at home later.”

  Miles looked at Rudolf. “Amber left with Sergei.”

  “My cousin would never do that.”

  “She did do that, though.”

  Without another word, Miles left the cardroom and walked outside to call for his coach. Cold anger grew into scorching fury.

  Amber left with Sergei pounded in his head. Reaching the Berkeley Square mansion, he walked upstairs without greeting Pebbles. He went directly to his wife’s empty chamber and sat on the chaise to wait for her return.

  Was Amber giving Pushkin a farewell gift of her body? She was already pregnant. How could he ever be certain she hadn’t lain with her old friend? Pain sliced through him as he conjured the erotic image of their naked bodies entwined.

  He loved her. And had believed her words of love.

  He should have known she could never love a disfigured beast.

  Miles leaned his head back against t
he chaise. The lateness of the hour and several glasses of wine conspired to send him into a troubled sleep.

  When he awakened hours later, sunlight streamed into the room. Miles focused on the empty chamber and realized the bed was unused. His wife had left him for another man.

  So be it.

  * * *

  Amber awakened disoriented. She opened her eyes and stared at the unfamiliar bedchamber.

  Where am I? She remembered speaking with Sergei and hearing a noise behind her. A hand covering her mouth. An arm grabbing her around the waist.

  Amber sat up and realized she wore only her chemise. Who had undressed her? She slipped off the bed and tried the door. Locked.

  Turning around, Amber walked to the windows. She was locked in a third-floor chamber. Her only hope—if she dared— was the oak tree, one of its thick branches reaching out to the window.

  Did Sergei love her so much he would steal her from her husband? Or had Fedor and Gromeko found her? If that was the case, what had they done to poor Sergei?

  Amber whirled away from the window when she heard the door being unlocked. Her heartbeat quickened, and her hands began to tremble.

  Baron Slominsky?

  Carrying a breakfast tray, the Russian baron walked into the room and kicked the door shut. He smiled at her, set the tray on the table, and pulled a chair out.

  “Come, Princess,” the baron said. “You will eat breakfast now.”

  “What have you done?” Amber cried, trying to cover herself with her hands.

  “Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Count Gromeko and forgive you for the merry chase you have led me.” Gromeko took a step toward her but halted when she shrank back against the window. “You need not fear me, Princess. I will never hurt you.”

  “You murdered Sergei.”

  “I assure you that Count Pushkin is enjoying his breakfast downstairs.”

  “I do not believe your lies. Sergei would never betray me—”

  “Unfortunately, Sergei and his family are heavily in debt,” Gromeko told her. “Perhaps under normal circumstances, he would not have considered betrayal, but—” The count shrugged.

  “I only want to have my baby,” Amber pleaded, beginning to weep. “Please do not do this.”