273. The Elusive Earl. Barbara Cartland

that had been hovering on his lips for a long time.

      Close though they were, Lord Yaxley was indeed aware that the Earl could be extremely reserved where his love affairs were concerned and he well knew as they walked up the stairs towards their bedrooms that only in exceptional circumstances would he have admitted, as he had tonight, what was troubling him.

      ‘Blast Genevieve!’ Lord Yaxley said to himself as they parted on the landing and went to their respective bedrooms.

      He was certain that it was the thought of being forced to marry the delectable widow that had spoilt the Earl’s enjoyment of winning the race this afternoon and made him more than usually remote and difficult.

      But with or without the problem of Genevieve, Lord Yaxley had been aware for some time that the Earl was bored with the social round and his own proverbial luck, which made everything he touched turn to gold.

      ‘Osric is right!’ he told himself as he got into bed. ‘What he needs is a war or a similar challenge to give him an incentive.’

      It was all the fault of having too much money, Lord Yaxley decided.

      The Earl was so unbelievably rich that there was really nothing that he could not buy.

      Horses, women, possessions, they all required little effort on his part. Perhaps it was a surfeit of success that had made the Earl grow cynical and, even to his best friends, there was now a hardness about him that was increasingly perceptible.

      It showed clearly in his face.

      It was almost impossible to imagine that a man could be more handsome, but even when there was a glint of amusement in his eyes, those who knew him well seldom found that there was anything soft or gentle about his expression.

      He expected perfection in the performance of duty by his servants and his employees and he was seldom disappointed.

      His houses and estates were admirably administered and, if there were minor difficulties and problems, they were not brought to his notice.

      He employed the best Agents, Managers, Attorneys and endless secretaries. He was the Commander-in-Chief, who planned all the campaigns and they were always successful.

      ‘He has too much,’ Lord Yaxley said to himself again before he fell asleep, wondering what could be the solution.

      After the next day’s racing, the two Noblemen drove back together to London, the Earl tooling his phaeton, drawn by a team of superlative horses and covering the mileage in what was, they were certain, record time.

      As they reached Helstone House in Piccadilly, Lord Yaxley said,

      “Am I meeting you at dinner tonight? I believe that we have both been invited by the Devonshires.”

      “Have we?” he asked indifferently. “My secretary will have a list of my engagements.”

      “And that reminds me,” Lord Yaxley said. “Are you going to stay with Lady Chevington again for the Derby? I am sure she has asked you.”

      “I believe I did receive an invitation from her,” the Earl replied.

      “Do you intend to accept?”

      There was a moment’s pause. Then, as the Earl drew his horses to a standstill outside the front door, he answered,

      “Why not? It is far the most comfortable house near Epsom and at least her parties are sometimes amusing.”

      “Then we can go together,” Lord Yaxley said. “Will you drive me down, Osric, unless you have other plans?”

      “I shall be delighted to give you a lift.”

      The two men parted, Lord Yaxley being driven by the Earl’s groom back to his lodgings, which were only two streets away.

      The Earl walked across the hall and into the library.

      He was there only for a moment before his secretary, Mr. Grotham, came into the room and bowed.

      “Anything important, Grotham?” the Earl enquired.

      “A great number of invitations, my Lord, but I will not trouble you with them now and several private letters. I have put them on your desk.”

      The Earl walked over to the desk and saw four envelopes written in what was obviously female handwriting.

      Mr. Grotham was always too tactful to open any letter or note that he thought might be personal and after years of service with his Lordship he was extremely astute in recognising a woman’s hand.

      The Earl saw at once that three of the letters were from Lady Genevieve. There was no mistaking her rather untidy and over-elaborate style and, as he looked down at them, his lips tightened.

      He had not referred again to the matter that Lord Yaxley and he had discussed last night, but the anger that the information had aroused still seethed within him.

      How dare she attempt, he asked himself, to catch him by the oldest trick in the world and how could he have been such a fool as to credit for one moment that she was telling him the truth?

      When he had started his love affair with Genevieve, he had no intention of it becoming serious. He had expected it to be just a light-hearted liaison between two sophisticated people who understood the rules of the game.

      That Genevieve had fallen in love with him, according to what she had told him, had not perturbed him in the slightest, except for the fact that she seemed determined to proclaim her affection for him noisily and incessantly.

      He found her desirable, extremely fascinating, and one of the most passionate women he had ever known in his life.

      She amused him and he had paid for her favours with diamonds, rubies and a stream of exorbitant bills from Bond Street dressmakers. He had also provided her with a carriage and horses that were the envy of all her friends.

      Never for one moment had the Earl considered marrying Lady Genevieve Rodney.

      She was the type of woman who, he knew from past experience, was incapable of being faithful either to a husband or to a lover.

      He was quite certain that, should the temptation arise, she would not hesitate to deceive him behind his back by taking to her bed any man who aroused her desires.

      But what he did not realise was that Genevieve found him irresistible, simply and solely because, as had been said so often about him, he was elusive.

      There was something about the Earl that no woman had ever been able to capture.

      Even in the closest moments of intimacy she always knew that she did not possess him, that he was not completely and wholeheartedly hers. So because the Earl eluded Genevieve, perhaps for the first time in her life, she being the seeker not the sought, she fell in love!

      She did not possess a deep nature and her emotions were very much on the surface, but she was a fiery creature with an insatiable craving for any man who took her fancy.

      With the Earl she found that her heart was unsatisfied however competent a lover he proved in every other way.

      She so wanted him at her feet. She wanted him subservient as other men had been. She wanted to capture him and. because he eluded her, she made up her mind to marry him.

      Apart from any personal desire in the matter, the Earl was a parti to whom no female in the length and breadth of the country was likely to say ‘no’.

      Apart from the many tales of his vast fortune, his estates and his priceless possessions, a woman had only to look at him, tall, broad-shouldered, handsome and confidently very sure of himself, to feel her heart turn over in her breast.

      Genevieve exerted every wile in her extensive repertoire to enthral the Earl.

      She found it easy to arouse his desires and he was extremely generous. But he never professed to love her and there was always a cynical twist to his lips and a slightly mocking note in his voice when he talked to her.