by Sabrina York
Eleanor couldn’t suppress a swell of jealousy. The girl was pretty, bright, charming and had all the advantages a child of Quality could expect. She’d just embarked upon her first season and, according to her accounts, was utterly beset with suitors.
Eleanor had never had a season. Certainly not a suitor.
But the thing gouging at Eleanor the most was that Louisa had been seated next to Ethan at dinner. She’d had his attention all evening.
Eleanor had tried not to fixate on the two of them, there across the table. She’d tried to listen to Haversham and laugh at his jokes and murmur, “Oh my,” whenever it seemed appropriate.
But she couldn’t shake the knowledge, that Louisa Dent was exactly the kind of girl Ethan needed. She was well-educated, articulate and witty. As the daughter and sister of an earl, she had standing in the ton. And she was young.
She’d never been married to Pennington’s nemesis.
They were perfectly suited, Louisa and Ethan, which Helena had known when she’d invited the Dents.
Damn and blast.
“How wonderful. The men have joined us at last.” Louisa leaped up as all the men, except Uncle Andrew, filed into the room. Tugging a reluctant Lady Dent with her, she headed for the piano. She’d been talking about performing a solo for the past half hour. The men smiled and good-naturedly took their seats, no doubt delighted to be favored with a musicale the instant they appeared.
Ethan sat in a wing chair to her left. Eleanor was so focused on him, she failed to notice Haversham had taken the seat next to her on the divan. That was, of course, until he took her hand and kissed it and murmured, “Lady Ulster.”
Eleanor was aware of a certain scalding glare from her left. She couldn’t resist a small, satisfied smile in response.
And then her smile faltered, because something rather hideous filled the room.
Louisa Dent, diamond of the ton, had begun to sing.
That she had chosen Ode to Joy was a mere coincidence, probably due to the fact that the music still sat on the piano. Eleanor let her gaze drift to Helena, whose eyes crossed as Louisa desecrated one of the higher notes. They shared a thought without words, as only old friends can do. Beside her, Haversham winced.
She shot a glance at Ethan. He was gawking at Louisa and nibbling on his knuckles, trying desperately not to blanch as she missed a cue then hurried to catch up, skipping several key words on her way.
“Oh my.” Eleanor heard James’ whispered imprecation from across the room.
Oh my, indeed.
When the song was over, they all drew in a deep breath and, before anyone could imprudently request another song, Helena jumped up and clapped her hands. “That was lovely. Just lovely. What do you all say to a game of cards? Baxter!” She clapped her hands some more, in a rather frantic fashion. “Baxter! Some tables, please. And the cards. Oh. Do hurry.”
What followed was a spirited series of whist matches. Spirited, because Ethan proposed they play for forfeits. With each hand, the losing player had to promise a service or token to the winner. Lady Dent, for example, demanded a dance from her husband at the coming birthday ball when she won—he agreed with a grimace. Haversham trounced Louisa and requested a stroll by the lake on the morrow. When Darlington won, he merely looked at Helena and lifted a brow. Her blush indicated she understood him fully.
For the final game, Eleanor found herself facing Ethan. She was determined to win. A plethora of forfeits filtered through her mind, each more delicious than the last.
But he distracted her. The beast distracted her by rubbing his foot against hers, up her leg under the table, until she was too flustered to focus. He beat her on a single play. It had been a stupid mistake and she knew it the instant she laid her card.
He won the hand and the game.
She shuddered to think what forfeit he would claim and sat there fiddling with her cards as he contemplated her.
But in the end, all he asked for was a song, to be named at some future time.
A song.
She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or not.
“Don’t you want to hear it now?” Haversham’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
“No.” Ethan’s gaze met hers. A message passed between them.
And suddenly, she wasn’t disappointed in the least.
“Well, that was terribly fun.” Helena interrupted the moment with a cheerful chirp, effectively drawing attention to herself. And then she yawned.
Helena had never been one for subtlety.
James stepped to her side and put his arm around her. “It is getting late. And you’ve had a busy day, my dear.”
Eleanor took the cue and stood. “I’m rather tired. I think I shall retire.”
And the evening broke up, although Dent and Haversham agreed to share another brandy and perhaps a game of billiards in the game room. The others all strolled to the stairs, listening to Louisa chatter about the day and the prospects for tomorrow.
By the time she bade the company good night and reached her room, Eleanor was tired.
Very tired of it all.
Chapter Nine
Ethan went to her room that night because she didn’t appear quickly enough at his door. He entered without knocking. She was sitting at the vanity, her maid brushing out her glorious hair. Eleanor wore nothing but a sheer nightdress. He glared at the maid and jerked his head to the door. At Eleanor’s nod, the girl skittered from the room.
He didn’t approach Eleanor, though he longed to do so. Rather he leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Haversham wants to woo you.”
“What?” Eleanor blinked. Apparently, this was not what she’d been expecting him to say.
“You heard me. He made the announcement to all the men after dinner. Declaring his intentions, staking his claim.” Even now, the thought made Ethan’s blood boil. He inspected his fingernails. “He says you ‘look upon him favorably’.”
She turned back to the mirror. Took up the brush and resumed stroking. “He’s a charming boy.”
Ethan growled. He stalked over to her and snatched the brush from her hand. He set it at the top of her head and made the long slow journey down its length, down to her waist. His hand followed the pass, caressing the long locks. They were soft, silky and shimmered in the lamplight.
He swallowed. “Do you like him?”
“Yes.”
His hand faltered. Slowly, he stroked again. “Do you intend to let him court you?”
Their eyes met in the mirror. Heat passed between them. She lowered her lashes. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I may need a husband.” This, she whispered.
Of course. Bloody hell.
If she couldn’t present an heir, or proof of one coming, within a month of Ulster’s death, she would be tossed out with nothing. Or forced into sexual servitude to her husband’s cousin. A veritable troll.
Ethan stroked again. He knew the words he should say but he couldn’t form them. He didn’t know why.
Surely it wasn’t the fear she would say no.
He drew the brush through her hair again and again, caught, tangled, in a moment he couldn’t manage. Thoughts, emotions, prospects raged though him in a seething mass. He considered, and discarded, one comment after another. Finally, he said, “We had a bargain.”
Her gaze flew to his. Her throat worked. “Have I reneged on our bargain? Have I given you reason to think I would?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” She took the brush from him and set it on the vanity, then stood before him. The light from the fire licked across the planes of her body, illuminating her breasts, the curve of her hip, the hollow of her belly, through the thin fabric. “It seems to me you owe me a service.” She untied his cravat and began working on his buttons. He stood there, still, and allowed her to remove his clothing.
He wanted her body. How he wanted her body.
But
he wanted something else more.
He wanted her to belong to him and him alone.
Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to claim her.
So he did what he knew how to do. He took her to bed and worshipped her. He kissed and licked and stroked every inch of her body. He feasted on her until she whimpered and pleaded and writhed beneath him.
Then he took her.
Claimed her.
He brought her to the heights of heaven and held her as she quivered and sobbed through the aftermath.
When they had rested, he took her again. Saying with his body what his words could not express.
She was his. His woman.
No one else would have her.
Helena had a picnic planned by the lake the next day, but it was delayed, as their hostess was feeling under the weather all morning. Eleanor did what she could to help but once the major decisions had been made and the servants had their orders she found herself at a loose end. She wandered around the house, ostensibly hunting for Ethan, but couldn’t find him, so she headed for the conservatory.
She’d always loved flowers and Helena’s collection was extensive. She strolled through the damp, humid corridors, surrounded on all sides by beauty and sweet perfume, allowing her mind to wonder. No surprise that it wandered to Ethan. How could it not?
There had been a tone, an intensity in his lovemaking last night that she had never experienced before. But there was more to it than just the physical—as superb as that was. There was something about him that made her happy, at home in her skin. Something in him her soul knew, recognized.
Though they’d only known each other for a handful of days, it seemed as though she’d known him forever.
She set her hand to her belly and allowed herself to imagine his child had taken root in her womb. Allowed herself to envision that child growing, learning at his father’s knee. If only Ethan could come to love her. If only he could overlook her unfortunate marriage.
If only he would offer for her.
She hated the thought of walking away from this party without his child inside her. She hated even more the thought of walking away from him. A child could secure her financial future. A husband could secure her social future. But she found she wanted something more.
She wanted what Helena and James had. A marriage. A real marriage.
The thought stunned her because she had sworn, less than a week ago, she would never marry again—unless she absolutely had to. Then again, that had been before she’d met Ethan. Before she’d learned not all men treated women as Ulster had. Not all husbands were cruel.
But Ethan had never said anything that led her to believe he entertained thoughts of marriage. And certainly not with her.
Which was a pity, because now she couldn’t imagine herself married to anyone else.
She sighed and bent to draw in the scent of a beautiful orchid.
“Ah. There you are.” A deep voice resonated on the air.
She stood and pinned a smile on her lips. “Lord Haversham.”
He eased through the leaves, so handsome and proper in his crisp morning suit. He bowed. “Lady Ulster.”
“What brings you to the conservatory this fine morning, my lord?”
He affected a bow. “I was searching for beauty. Seems I found it.”
“Helena has some exquisite flowers.”
“I wasn’t talking about the flowers.” He took her hand. “You’re looking particularly ravishing today, Lady Ulster, if I may be so bold.”
She blushed and not just from his words. The glint in his eyes was hungry. “Thank you, my lord.”
“My name is Charles. Can you find it in your heart to call me that?”
Eleanor pulled her hand from his grasp and set it on her chest. “Oh. I couldn’t.”
“I would be forever in your debt. To hear my name from your lips would be…”
Dear heavens. He stepped closer, and closer still.
Before she could protest, before she could stop him or step away or turn the topic to something innocuous and bland, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
As kisses went, it was pleasant enough, although Eleanor was hardly one to judge. She’d only kissed three men before now. Ulster, which had been downright unpleasant, her mysterious lover at the Carlisle-Grant soiree and Ethan.
Haversham’s lips were warm and gentle. Pleasant. They didn’t sear her sanity or drag harshly, passionately across hers. They didn’t nibble or nip. He certainly didn’t press harder, open her lips and nudge his tongue inside.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, fluttered in her chest.
Well, until a furious voice boomed behind them, “What the bloody hell is this?”
As one, they sprang apart and whirled to see Ethan—whose face was piping red—and Darlington, who stood to the side biting back a grin.
“Well,” James said, sotto voce, to Ethan’s fierce glare, “he did declare his intentions.”
“Lord Darlington. Colonel Pennington.” Haversham bowed stiffly. “Do forgive me. I was talking with the lovely Lady Ulster and got carried away. I will, of course, offer for her.”
Eleanor‘s gaze snapped to Haversham. Heavens. He was serious.
“The hell you will.” Ethan lunged forward, his hands clenched in tight fists.
James leaped between them, struggling to hold Ethan back. “Now, now. There’s no reason for anything rash.”
“It’s not rash. It makes sense.” Haversham dropped to one knee. “Lady Ulster, will you do me the honor—”
“She will not.”
Haversham frowned at Ethan, then turned back to Eleanor and opened his mouth again.
Before he could speak, before he could say the words, she set her fingers on his lips. “Now, Lord Haversham. Lord Darlington is right. I am hardly a young girl whose reputation needs protecting by such a gallant measure. Won’t you please get up?”
He leaped to his feet. “But I’m in love with you!”
She gaped at him. Dear heavens. The boy thought he was. She took his hands in hers. “Lord Haversham…Charles.” Ethan growled at her use of his given name. “You may think you’re in love with me, but you’re not. You don’t even know me.” They’d had dinner, for pity sake. “Please. Think nothing of that kiss—”
“I will not.”
“You must.” She allowed a thread of steel into the command and was gratified to see the fervent light in his eye dim, just a tad. “Now, what do you say we all repair to the drawing room for a spot of tea? Darlington, how is Helena? Is she feeling better?”
James took her cue, along with her arm, and led the company from the conservatory back into the house. Eleanor deliberately ignored Haversham’s woeful glances and Ethan’s simmering glares and focused on her host as he sprinkled her with banal witticisms all the way. She forced herself to appear calm and collected but her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
Ethan had been angry. Furious.
She’d never seen him so enraged.
How would he take it out on her once they were alone?
She couldn’t bear to think on it.
Helena, contrary to all expectations, was waiting for them in the drawing room, looking absolutely well and glowing. “There you are,” she cried, leaping up from her seat and crossing to meet them at the door. “I was beginning to despair you would ever find them.”
The other occupants of the room, Dent, Lady Dent and Louisa, smiled their greetings as well.
“Where were they?” the latter asked. She jumped at Ethan’s snarled response.
“In the conservatory.”
Eleanor shot him a reproachful frown. “Your flowers are absolutely lovely, Helena.”
“I should so like to see them.” Louisa glanced meaningfully at Ethan, beneath the veil of her lashes. He ignored her.
“Perhaps we can take a tour later.” Helena waved everyone to their chairs. Eleanor took the wing chair so Haversham would not be tempted to sit next to her.
Ethan was still in quite a temper. He stormed over to lean against the mantel where he could glower, in turns, at Haversham and herself. Darlington led Helena to the divan and took a seat next to her. Haversham wandered around the room like a lost soul and then finally took the only other open seat next to Louisa.
Who was gazing longingly at Ethan.
Who was glaring at Eleanor.
It was practically a farce.
She sucked in a deep breath. “So, what are the plans for this afternoon, Helena?”
“Oh.” Helena clapped her hands together. “First the picnic by the lake—it’s such a lovely day—and then I thought we could play hide-and-go-seek.”
Ethan’s head came up. He fixed his attention on Eleanor’s face.
She ignored him.
It was difficult.
“That sounds lovely.”
“And tomorrow is Darlington’s birthday ball.” She patted her husband’s arm. “I’ve invited all our neighbors. It’s to be a masquerade.” She shot Eleanor a conspiratorial grin. “I do love masquerades, don’t you?”
It was an innocent remark. Eleanor blushed nonetheless. It made her think of the last masked ball she’d attended and how that had worked out.
Which was Helena’s intent. The minx.
“How wicked,” Louisa murmured. Again, she ogled Ethan.
That was becoming annoying.
Eleanor turned away from the sight and found herself looking into Haversham’s brown eyes. They were wide and pleading. Like a puppy dog.
She sighed.
That was becoming annoying too.
“Well, I for one cannot wait.” It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.
The picnic was irritating, and not just holding plates on one’s lap and sitting on blankets spread over lumpy ground. There was Haversham to contend with. His sighs and longing looks in Eleanor’s direction were becoming distinctly infuriating.
But Ethan sat there, as he was supposed to, and ate and drank and tried to make conversation in a somewhat civilized manner. When all he wanted to do was flatten a certain too-patrician nose. To her credit, Eleanor did nothing to encourage the drooling attention, but that hardly helped Ethan’s mood.