Page 41 of A Symphony for the Earl

“Perhaps if you let Mr. Falworth hire a secretary to help with the estates…”

“Not now, Valentina, I beg you. We will speak of it another time.”

“I will hold you to it,” she said firmly. “Something must change.” She looked as if she would say more, but to his relief, the valet’s entrance interrupted the discussion.

“I can leave the laudanum,” Valentina offered, smoothing a few errant locks back from his forehead.

Richard covered her hand with his. “No, Val, take it away. I should not take any more, even if I am tempted. One dose is enough.”

She bent and kissed his brow. “Try to get some sleep. Perhaps I should call on Fiona to play some soothing music,” she suggested.

“No!” It came out far more emphatically than he intended, and she looked at him with curiosity. “Company is the last thing I require. Go to bed; you must be exhausted.”

For Fiona to see him like this, especially after his shocking behavior this evening, would be mortifying. Richard stood wearily and allowed his valet to remove the tightly fitted jacket and rumpled cravat.

He had tempted the boundaries of good sense, thinking he could hold her again without consequences. His unfortunate arousal during their waltz had blindsided him. On the dance floor at Almack’s, no less. What was it about this woman? She was annoying and headstrong, perplexing as hell, and so vibrant and natural in her beauty that every woman seemed paler in comparison.

He pulled the thin lawn shirt loose from his breeches, tossing it aside, but avoided bending over to remove the rest. John motioned for him to sit, and took off Richard’s buckled shoes, then carefully rolled the white stockings down his calves.

Perhaps he might have controlled the situation if she had not responded so deliciously to his nearness as they danced. In her innocence, Fiona wouldn’t have recognized her quickened breath and the rapid rise and fall of her perfect breasts as signs of arousal. But Richard knew better, and his body reacted of its own volition.

It didn’t help that six months had passed since he ended the lengthy affaire with Eleanor. But that excuse would not do. He always had control of his appetites. Richard stood, and John slipped a maroon dressing gown over his loosened shirt and dress breeches.

Thank God, the stabbing agony in his head was beginning to lessen, although he dreaded the dizzy, floating sensation the opiate left behind. Hansen appeared, bearing decanters of whiskey and water. A glass of whiskey on top of the laudanum generally left the earl drowsy enough to sleep.

“Shall I help remove your breeches, my lord?

“No, thank you, John. I shall see you in the morning.” He craved only solitude after an evening full of noise and crowds. The valet bowed and left the room, but Hansen stayed, looking at him with concern.

“Leave the door ajar, Hansen; I find it stuffy in here. There is no need to attend me further; I will go to bed on my own.”

The majordomo obeyed, still looking doubtful.

Once alone, Richard bowed his head, massaging the back of his neck. He was not ready to retire yet, though the pain had abated and a warm cloud of the opiate settled over his limbs. The bedchamber just behind the study seemed far away. He often spent a night battling his headache on the long damask sofa behind him, but tonight, he was satisfied with the comfortable leather chair.

Even though the tight bands constricting his head were easing, it still throbbed. He reached for the whiskey on his side table and poured a healthy portion. Richard sipped it slowly, leaning back against the cushions and allowing the hazy relief of the alcohol to take hold.

His mind wandered into a dreamlike reverie. He was dancing with Fiona, and they were waltzing. Her lithe body teased his erection, but this time he moved closer rather than drawing away, his rigid length pressing against her stomach and thigh.

The ballroom faded, and they were alone in his room. She smiled enticingly, slipping the satin bodice of her dress down her bare breasts. They were pale as cream, and the coral tips ruched like tiny rosebuds. One by one, he pulled the pins from her elaborately styled coiffure and it fell in raven waves about her bare shoulders.

“Richard,” she whispered, pulling aside the curls. “I’m afire for you. Kiss me.”

His hand moved to the fall of his breeches and followed the rigid outline of his cock. He groaned, slowly stroking the erect shaft. The drug seemed to intensify his arousal and it ached unbearably.

A soft knock echoed in the quiet room.

“Damn it, John, I told you to go to bed,” Richard growled.

“My lord, it’s Fiona. I’ve brought something for your headache.”

Without waiting for his answer, she slipped through the door he had foolishly kept ajar.

He blinked, trying to clear his foggy mind. She stood in her evening dress, though her hair was now bound by a green ribbon in a loose pile on top of her head. She wore no jewelry and stood like a vision in the middle of his library. Richard rubbed his eyes but the image remained. And like some ancient handmaiden, she carried a small pot of dark-blue glass.

*

Fiona waited for Richard to stand and acknowledge her, but he continued to sit by the fireplace. The flame that flickered in the grate was the only light in the dim room. His brow furrowed in a forbidding expression, and he stared as if she were someone he had never seen before.