Page 66 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
He considered speaking, but he’d once attended a lecture on volcanoes, and he had a feeling that he was on the verge of watching one erupt. The lecturer had described them as beautiful but dangerous. Westcliffe couldn’t argue that point.
“I went riding along Rotten Row yesterday,” she finally spit out. She neither looked at him nor ceased her pacing, but everything within him stilled. “Imagine my immense surprise when I spied you kissing your wife.”
She did stop now to glare at him with all the force of her fury. He slammed his eyes closed. It had never occurred to him that she would see him or that what he’d meant to be a quick buss over Claire’s lips would turn into moments of distracting delight. The latter, he should have known. He could not touch her without wanting more.
He opened his eyes to discover that her fury had evaporated, and in its place was devastation. Tears that he suddenly realized appeared with uncharacteristically good timing welled in her eyes.
“Why would you kiss her in public?” she rasped. “Why would you kiss her at all?”
Very slowly, he came to his feet. “Anne—”
“You’re going to get a divorce.”
He wasn’t sure if she was making a statement or asking a question. He shook his head. “The situation has changed. I should have come to see you the moment—”
“How has it changed?”
He had witnessed his father hurting his mother and been determined never to bring harm to a woman. Yet in the span of three years he had hurt two. It did not matter that neither loved him. He was part of their lives, and he had treated them poorly. “A divorce is no longer … desirable,” he said quietly, the words difficult to say, and yet doing so also brought a sense of relief.
Growing pale, she staggered back and slowly lowered herself into a chair. “You’ve bedded her?”
She said the words as though he’d admitted to eating dog excrement. For some reason, anger surged through him, not for himself, but for Claire. That Anne would not realize what a treasure his wife was, that any man would be fortunate to have her.
“She is my wife,” he said, enunciating each word carefully and putting all the force of his position in society behind them.
“Do you love her then?”
Did he? He cared for Claire. He enjoyed greeting the day with her nestled against him. He certainly relished their lovemaking. Whatever feelings he had for Claire, she should hear them first, before anyone else. It would help if he could identify the need and want that battled inside him. “I’m sorry, Anne, but my feelings for her … are not to be shared with you.”
“And what of your feelings for me? You have been my lover for six months. You have stayed with me longer than you have with any other—save your wife. And your time with her has been one of separation. Surely she has not won you over in so short a span of time. She has bewitched you with her constancy in your home. But you cannot desire her more than you desire me.”
“Anne, I had not planned for my relationship with Claire to take this turn, but now that it has, I can give you no promises.”
Looking down at her hands, knotted together, she breathed deeply. “When my husband died, I made up my mind that I would love my next husband dearly.” She lifted her face, her gaze filled with entreaty. “You are the one I wanted. Knowing your marriage had never been consummated, that you and your wife were estranged, gave me hope for happiness such as I’ve never had.”
Swiftly, holding her gaze, he moved to kneel before her and brought her hands to his lips. “Anne, you must understand that I am incapable of love.”
“Then you don’t love her either. You can petition Parliament for a divorce. I can be happy without your love; I simply cannot be happy without you.”
“It would not be fair to Claire. I have set my course. I intend to stay with her. You must accept that.”
It pained him to see the tears rolling down her cheeks. Working her hands free of his, she cradled his face. “I shall miss you terribly, but if you believe you will be happy with her”—she brushed her lips, damp and salty with her tears, over his—”then I shall do as you say. I shall accept that you shall never be mine.”
Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she blotted her tears and gave him a smile of bravado.
Standing, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Be happy, Anne.”
Straightening, he strode from the room. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why he’d ever wanted to be in her company.
Chapter 19
Claire had decided there was little she appreciated more than seeing her husband dressed in his evening attire—unless it was seeing him not dressed in anything at all. During the past week, she’d learned he was an incredibly attentive and adventuresome lover. He didn’t limit lovemaking to the bed. No piece of furniture was spared: a couch, a settee, a chair, a desk, a table. Even the bench in the garden if the hour was late enough and they were not likely to be discovered. She was surprised he’d not yet taken her to the park. Perhaps he would when there was no moon to reveal them.
Standing with him in the library, waiting for Beth to join them, she adjusted his cravat.
“How many more of these blasted balls must we attend?” he grumbled.
“As many as Beth wants,” she answered. Tonight’s ball was the Countess of Claybourne’s—at last. Beth’s gown had arrived only that afternoon. “Please don’t pay any gentlemen to dance with her this evening.”
