Beauty and the Earl Page 6

And then the kiss ended.

  Miles stared at her dazed expression. He drew her against his chest, holding her close, giving her a chance to recover. For long moments, they cast one shadow.

  Then he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, tilted her chin up, and said, “Thank you for the gift of your first kiss.”

  Amber felt a blush heating her cheeks. “Thank you for accepting my gift and making the giving so pleasurable.”

  “You do not regret giving your first kiss to a scarred beast?”

  Amber read the anxiety couched in his expression and touched his uninjured cheek. “You are a man, not a beast,” she told him. “Your scars mark you a hero. I know no other man with the courage to defy fire to save the woman he loved.”

  “Not even Sergei?”

  Amber gave him a rueful smile. “Especially not Sergei.”

  Miles stared into her eyes and wondered if her flattering words were sincere or designed to entice him to the altar. Even a scarred beast wanted to be desired for himself, not used exclusively for whatever reason she needed a husband. Reluctant to relinquish her, he put an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the woodland path.

  “Your Highness, the time for negotiations has arrived,” Miles said. “Tonight, we will discuss our future.”

  * * *

  How will the princess react to my proposal? Miles wondered, sipping his sherry, waiting for her arrival in the dining room. Proposal? His offer smelled like a proposition.

  But what else could he do to test her sincerity? No man wanted to be used for what he could do for the woman.

  The princess wasn’t searching for a fortune or a title, but she did want his name. He had no wish for a wife who pretended tenderness and passion. The bargain he intended to negotiate would strip the pretense from her behavior. He would know if she was developing a fondness for him or playing a role to deceive him.

  Her mother had lacked moral fiber. Could the princess have inherited that flaw? Would her acceptance of his proposal mean she lacked morals? Or did she suffer from desperation?

  “Good evening, Miles.”

  “Good evening, Amber.” With an appreciative eye, Miles gave her a quick perusal. She had dressed to please, to attract, to entice him into a marriage proposal.

  Her gown was violet silk, matching her eye color, and its bodice was cut low to reveal the swell of her alabaster breasts. She had brushed her hair back and fashioned it in a knot at the nape of her delicate neck. Her lack of jewels enhanced her natural beauty.

  “I understand you were busy this afternoon,” Miles said, assisting her into the chair beside his.

  Amber gave him her sunshine smile. “I baked a surprise for you.”

  “I can hardly wait.” Miles cast her a sidelong glance and teased, “So, Princess, do you always talk to plants?”

  “Plants love voices and music.” Her eyes sparkled with merriment when she added, “I make the plants healthy and happy, and then I eat them.”

  Miles laughed out loud, drawing surprised looks from his servants. He stared at the salad. “Is this one of your friends?”

  Amber gave him an ambiguous smile. “I will never reveal that, or you might not eat it.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  “I do not understand incorrigible.”

  “Beyond correction,” Miles told her. “Your humor proves your naughtiness.”

  During dinner, Miles spoke of inconsequential matters, trivial topics designed to relax her guard before their negotiations. Though he refused to reconsider his actions, Miles began to doubt the wisdom of such machinations. Princess Amber was unlike any society lady he had ever met, including Brenna. She enjoyed working in the kitchen and getting her hands dirty in the garden. If she cared about a rosebush, could she care for him?

  When their plates had been cleared, Amber gestured to Pebbles, who left the dining room to fetch her special dessert. She hoped the earl enjoyed her offering enough to consider her a welcome addition to his family. Her uncle’s cook had always told her the road to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She was putting that theory to the test.

  Pebbles set her culinary masterpiece on the table between them. Puff pastry surrounded a warm pudding rich with cream and an assortment of sugared fruit.

  “Guriev kasha is the king of all Russian desserts,” Amber said, serving him herself. She watched him take his first bite.

  “This tastes delicious.” Miles sounded surprised. “What are the ingredients?”

  “Eye of newt and toe of frog,” Amber teased him, quoting Shakespeare, “wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing.”

  “For a charm of powerful trouble,” Miles continued the Shakespearean quote, “like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”

  “Double, double, toil and trouble . . .”

  “Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble.”

  Both burst into laughter. Amber glanced at the servants and noted their pleased expressions.

  “What is it, really?”

  Amber leaned close and whispered, “A secret.”

  Without thinking, Miles planted a chaste kiss on her lips. He surprised her, the servants, and himself. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You did not regret stealing a kiss this morning,” she said, making the servants smile.

  Miles changed the subject. “Did you know that Stratford is Shakespeare’s home?”

  “Will you take me to see his haunts?”

  “I would love to give you the grand tour. Tomorrow?”

  “I would like that very much.” Amber glanced at the shocked majordomo and knew their outing marked the earl’s first public appearance since the fire.

  How would the townspeople react to the masked earl? Would they be friendly or fear him? Amber banished the disturbing thought that their first public appearance together could prove a disaster. She would worry about that when it happened.

  “Shall we retire to the drawing room?” Miles suggested.

  Amber stood, wondering what sort of negotiations the earl had in mind. Their situation seemed straight-forward. Either he would marry her or not. And if not?

  She would return to London and search for a husband, but she would miss the earl. He was a strong man who had known great pain. She had known great pain, too. Finding another man like him would prove impossible.

  Pebbles served them from the porcelain coffee service. The majordomo left the drawing room, closing the door behind him, giving them privacy.

  Miles paced back and forth in front of the hearth, which Amber did not consider an encouraging sign. She noted in dismay that he moved to the high-backed armchair rather than sit beside her on the settee.

  “Why do you fear the dark?” Miles asked, catching her off guard.

  “I do not fear the dark,” Amber lied. “I prefer the light.”

  He touched his mask. “Do you want to remain at Arden Hall permanently?”

  “Is this an invitation?”

  Miles inclined his head.

  “You will not regret this,” she said, her smile pure sunshine.

  “Your answer is yes?”

  Amber inclined her head.

  “I don’t believe you have considered the consequences of remaining here,” Miles told her.

  “Are you trying to dissuade me?”

  “I want you to make an informed decision. You will never replace my wife.”

  Amber felt like weeping, her dream of a loving family evaporating like fog beneath the noonday sun. What choice did she have? The earl’s offer was better than what awaited her in Russia.

  Amber fixed her gaze on the carpet lest he see her pain. She had learned long ago never to show weakness, and emotional pain was a weakness that could be used against her.

  “You won’t regret this decision in a year or five or ten?” Miles asked.

  “I will be a devoted wife,” she promised him.

  “I have not asked you to marry me.”<
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  Amber shot to her feet. “What do you mean?”

  “I want an heir,” Miles answered, “but neither of us knows if you are fertile or barren. I will marry you when you carry my child.”

  “How dare you suggest such a contemptible, self-serving arrangement,” Amber exploded, sounding every inch the royal.

  His expression and manner remained mild. “Blustering won’t help.”

  “Blustering, my arse. You want me to give you my virtue without guarantee. You risk nothing.”

  “That is my offer.” Miles folded his arms across his chest. “Take it or leave it.”

  Amber paced back and forth in front of the hearth. She knew she had no choice. Returning to London was not a viable option. Rudolf could not protect her indefinitely. She needed a husband’s name and a child growing inside her. Only then would she feel safe.

  “I agree to your terms,” Amber said, her tone frigid. “Tonight?”

  The earl gave her a puzzled look.

  Embarrassment stained her cheeks. “You know.”

  “Tonight is ill favored. I will choose the time.” Miles gave her a speculative look. “You are unusually beautiful and carry royal blood in your veins. Why do you agree to such terms?”

  “Do you believe beauty is a blessing?” Amber asked, her tone bitter. “My so-called beauty is a cross I bear. I wish I looked like Macbeth’s witches. Bastards have desires and wishes like those born properly.”

  “And yours are?”

  “I wanted a husband and children and love,” Amber admitted. “Unfortunately, I was born with beauty instead of legitimacy and must settle for a husband and children and no love.”

  “Couldn’t you have had the same in Russia?”

  “No family would welcome the bastard daughter of an adulteress,” Amber said. “Uncle Fedor would have sold me to the wealthiest aristocrat who wanted a noble mistress.”

  The earl looked away as if ashamed to meet her gaze. “Is that the reason you need a husband? Surely, your uncle will not follow you to England. Why didn’t you remain in London and seek marriage with a more suitable gentleman?”

  “There is more to my story,” Amber said, “but that is for the ears of my husband only.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me everything. You do need a husband, after all.”

  “I will keep my own counsel.” The sunshine was missing from the smile she gave him. “You do need an heir, my lord.”

  Miles inclined his head.

  “I feel tired.” Amber needed to get away from him to compose herself. “You will excuse me, please.”

  “I have upset you.” Miles stood and took a step toward her but stopped when she stepped back.

  “I am not easily upset,” Amber told him. “I have many years experience with people who believe I deserve no respect.”

  Like you was left unspoken.

  Amber felt his gaze on her until she escaped the drawing room. She struggled against tears and won the battle, her anger keeping her sorrow at bay.

  How dare the earl put her in the position of becoming his mistress? Did the man have no morals? No shame? What prevented him from tossing her aside once she had given herself to him? What if she swelled with his child and he refused to marry her?

  In that event, Cousin Rudolf would force the earl to marry her, but their marriage would prove disastrous. She needed to make him love her.

  Wishing bells. The silver and gold bells the czar had sent her on her tenth birthday.

  Blessed with salt consecrated on Saint Stephan’s Day, the bells would carry her wish to heaven. She had already written the words true love inside one of them but had feared hanging it lest the sound draw her uncle’s attention.

  She didn’t know if she believed the legend. Surely, hanging the bell in the window would do no harm.

  Amber chose a red ribbon, the color of love, and slipped it through the tiny bell’s loop. Standing on a chair, she tied the ribbon to the rod and then opened the window.

  A gentle breeze shook the bell. Its delicate tinkling made her smile. Amber fell asleep listening to the bell’s tinkling and imagining the love its magic would bring.

  Meanwhile, the Earl of Stratford paced his bedchamber and worried. How could he have agreed to escort her on a tour of Stratford? He had not left Arden Hall since the fire. How would the townspeople react to the sight of his mask? Would they recoil in horror, or would they treat him with the respectful deference they had always shown him?

  Miles knew he was trapped. To cancel the excursion meant admitting to cowardice.

  Doubts about the bargain he had made with the princess crept into his troubled thoughts. He had behaved badly and hurt her feelings. Her acceptance of his unreasonable demand shamed him.

  How could he marry her? Scarred beast that he was, he could never make her happy.

  Still, Miles wanted an heir to carry the Montgomery name. His face was scarred, but his seed was healthy. Why shouldn’t he desire an heir? Every man reached for immortality.

  Judging enough time had passed to insure the princess slept, Miles slipped into her bedchamber. The bed curtains were open and the night candle burned, as it had the previous nights.

  Miles heard a tinkling sound. On silent feet, he crossed the chamber and saw the tiny bell dangling from the rod and wondered at its significance.

  Approaching the bed, Miles stared at the princess. Her beauty demanded gowns and jewels and seasons in London. He could give her the gowns and the jewels, but the seasons in London would prove impossible.

  Without thinking, Miles reached to draw the coverlet back. He stopped himself, though. The princess had agreed to give herself to him but needed time to consider the enormity of what she had promised him. If he touched her now, he would be unable to control his desire to bed her. Once he had taken her into his bed, he would never let her go.

  After dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead, Miles snuffed the night candle and returned to his bedchamber. He left the door ajar lest she awaken in the night and need his comfort.

  Chapter 5

  Where is she?

  Miles paced back and forth across the foyer, irritated to be kept waiting like an eager suitor. He paused to glance at his pocket watch, having instructed the princess to meet him in the foyer at eleven o’clock. Her Highness was five bloody minutes late.

  “Don’t you have anything to do?” Miles growled at his majordomo.

  Pebbles grinned. “No, my lord.”

  “Find something.”

  “My lord, who will—?”

  “I am capable of opening my own damn door.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Pebbles disappeared down the corridor, but the sound of his chuckles drifted back to the foyer.

  Terminating the disrespectful old codger seemed like a good idea. On the other hand, Pebbles had served the Montgomery family his whole life and would have no place to go.

  And then Miles realized the foolishness of his thought. He wasn’t irritated with the princess or his majordomo.

  Anxiety coiled like a snake inside him, inciting him to strike those unfortunates who crossed his path. Why shouldn’t he feel nervous? Four years had passed since his last visit to Stratford. Miles wondered how the townspeople would react to the forbidding sight of him. They had known him as an affable peer of the realm. That man had died with his wife in the inferno, vanishing forever into a scarred and bitter beast. Perhaps he should cancel their outing.

  Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Miles turned to see Amber and thoughts of canceling disappeared. He had never seen a woman lovelier than she. The princess wore a high-waisted pale pink gown, embroidered with white roses at the neckline and hem. She carried a white bonnet with pale pink ribbons.

  “Are you prepared for your tour of Shakespeare’s Stratford?” Miles asked, greeting her with a smile.

  Amber returned his smile. “Quite prepared, my lord.”

  Taking her hand in his, Miles escorted her outside to the courtyard, where the coach and drive
r awaited them. Normally, he would have driven himself, but having no idea how the townspeople would react, he had decided to remain hidden within the safety of the coach.

  Miles helped Amber into the coach and then climbed inside. He faced a choice. Sit beside or opposite her? He sat beside her.

  “Tell me about the bell hanging in your window,” Miles said. “Are you practicing the black arts in my home?”

  Amber laughed, the softly seductive sound he was beginning to love. “The bell is a Russian superstition,” she explained. “The tinkling of the bell frightens evil spirits away and brings the household good luck.”

  “I thank you for thinking of my household’s well-being,” he teased her. “I cannot imagine how we survived before your arrival.”

  “I believe I arrived just in time,” she said, responding to his lighthearted tone.

  “In time to save us from what?”

  Amber gave him an ambiguous smile but said nothing.

  “Your smile reminds me of the Mona Lisa,” Miles whispered against her ear.

  “Thank you, Leonardo.”

  Traveling north on Shipston Road, their coach passed woodland and meadow and riverbank. Wildflowers bloomed in rioting colors against a green background. Along the dense roadside hedgerow, grew wild arum and Queen Anne’s lace. Pale pink and violet lady’s smock colored the fringes of the woodland while yellow dandelions dotted the rolling meadows. Scarlet poppy, blue iris, and orange balsam kept company with the willows along the riverbank.

  Their coach crossed the Clopton Bridge, bringing them into Stratford proper. They traveled Bridge Street until the road forked into Henley Street.

  Miles noted the passersby pause to watch his coach. He flicked a worried glance at the princess, but she seemed oblivious to the attention they were receiving.

  His driver stopped in front of a half-timbered, Tudor-style building. Miles climbed down and then assisted the princess, his hands lingering on her waist a moment longer than necessary.

  “Shakespeare entered the world in this house,” Miles said, gesturing to the building. “The timber came from the Forest of Arden and the stone from Wilmcote. That attached building was his father’s glove-making shop.”

  “Are we allowed inside?”