‘Which is what one would expect under the circumstances?’
‘She has long been determined to marry me to Lord Taverner’s son, and since I have nothing of my own she will contribute generously to a settlement should I agree. Lord Taverner was a close friend of her husband, and he has remained her good friend. She will go to any lengths to please him. A union between the Sandfords and the Taverners is very important to her. What I feel is unimportant and that I should have feelings at all is incomprehensible. I’m merely a small piece in a large transaction. You will know Lord Taverner.’
William was unprepared for the jealousy that slammed into him. He stared at her, for once in his life lost for words. And, worse, a mixture of tense emotions twisted together like snakes inside his chest. Was one of them dread? And if so, why should he feel that?
Eleanor gave him a sharp, searching glance. ‘William, why do you look at me like that?’
‘I am astounded. Which one of Taverner’s sons has she in mind? He has two sons—as I recall.’
‘Martin—the eldest.’
‘Good Lord! ’ Tis all very well, Eleanor, but the man is seriously immature and feeble—too light in the head for you. He has an appalling stammer and he is ruled by his father, a ruthless, greedy man if my memory serves me well.’
Eleanor sighed. ‘My feelings exactly. But Martin is different from his father. He is of a gentle nature and he is always polite and considerate and friendly towards me.’
‘And would you object to the match between you?’
She shook her head. ‘If I have to marry, then I can think of no one I else I would rather wed. Aunt Mildred could choose someone far more disagreeable than Martin.’
Standing with his back to her, staring out over the dark landscape unseeing, giving no indication of his thoughts, William asked, ‘And does he want to marry you?’
‘Yes—at least I think so. He has never been indifferent towards me. Mother and I lived with Aunt Matilda for a while—after Father…’ She bit her lip, unable to finish what she was saying. ‘Martin was a frequent visitor to Cantly Manor and we spent a great deal of time together.’
William turned and looked at her again, but this time there was in his eyes something like involuntary tenderness. ‘Indifferent? What man in his right mind could be indifferent to you, Eleanor?’
Eleanor’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why, Lord Marston! Is that a compliment? And if so, do you mean it, I wonder?’
‘You should know me well enough by now to know I never say anything I don’t mean.’
The sudden warmth in his voice brought the heat creeping into her cheeks. ‘No,’ she said seriously. ‘No, I don’t know you really well. Remember, I first saw you as someone I distrusted and disliked—because you not only betrayed my father, but you hurt Catherine also—then as a—an acquaintance—and—and now as a…’
William’s eyes flicked to hers and he said with a wicked grin, ‘Saviour?’
She tilted her head to one side and considered the word carefully before answering. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so—but only because you helped me escape from my stepfather’s clutches. It would have been difficult for me to have made the journey north alone.’
‘How does Lord Taverner feel about you marrying Martin?’
‘He is as eager as Aunt Matilda. Martin is not unattractive and he does have a winsome look, I suppose, but he is too easily led by his father. If Aunt Matilda has her way, now I have left Fryston Hall and with the demise of Uncle John—for which I blame myself entirely,’ she said quietly, ‘she will do everything in her power to bring about our betrothal.’
‘And you have already said you would not object to the match?’
‘No, I don’t suppose so. Opposing my aunt’s authority would be hard—impossible. As an orphan I must consider myself fortunate. Beggars can’t be choosers and I do like Martin.’
‘You don’t have to marry him. You could say no.’ William was watching her closely, his eyes alert above the faintly smiling mouth.
Eleanor arched her brows and laughed. ‘To Aunt Matilda? William, you do not know my Aunt Matilda.’
‘No…’ he chuckled, ‘…and I have no wish to. Does she not have a family of her own?’
‘No. Her husband died leaving her childless—and very wealthy. Unlike many widows she never remarried, but I’ve always had a feeling that she is in love with Lord Taverner. There’s a strange look in her eyes when he’s present—almost a pleading look.’
‘And if she insists that you go to Cantly Manor, what will you do?’
‘What can I do? I must abide by her wishes. Hollymead belongs to Walter now. We were always close—but the reality of it is that with a wife and baby on the way he might not want me there. Besides, I can’t go back there until it’s safe for me to do so.’
‘Don’t think about it tonight—or tomorrow.’ He stood up, towering over her, watching the crisp wind continue to flirt with her hair. Her dark lashes swept down over her expressive amber eyes. He caught his breath, wanting to draw her into his arms, to breathe in the scent of her flesh, to hold her close, to feel the softness of her body. But he could not. He dared not—but why not? he argued with himself. Where was the harm? They were both free, and she was young and ardent and willing to love. A kiss could hurt no one—could it?
Eleanor was vividly conscious of her proximity to him, his tall figure dark against the shadows of the parapet, and the warm trickle of a familiar sensation ran through her, a stirring she had felt once before when he had come into her room and found her in bed. Without warning his hand lifted and curved round her cheek. Gazing into those fathomless silver eyes, she felt a curious sharp thrill run through her as the force between them seemed to ignite.
More attracted to her by the moment, William wondered about her allure, for it was more than her face or her body that attracted him. Eleanor Collingwood had a gentleness that warmed him, and a fiery spirit that challenged him. He knew he was going to kiss her, finding the prospect infinitely appealing, even though on the morrow he would undoubtedly regret having taken things so far. On the other hand, if he was going to have regrets, he might as well have something substantial to regret.
‘Tell me, Eleanor, have you ever been kissed?’ he asked, his heavy-lidded gaze fixed on her lips.
Unnerved, and thoroughly confused at the way things were going, Eleanor shook her head. ‘No, never,’ she whispered.
‘And I was of the mind that the times you’ve been kissed may be too numerous to count.’
‘I’ve never met anyone that I wanted to kiss me.’ At that moment she knew she wanted William to kiss her—and she also knew she should repulse him if he tried. She looked at him, entranced, hardly breathing. Strands of hair drifted over her face, and she thought his face bent over her was more beautiful than she had ever known. She saw the deepening light in his eyes and the thick, defined brows and wanted to touch him as one touches the soft flesh of a newborn babe.
And then, as if they had come to remind her, images of her mother and father passed before her eyes. Quickly she recollected herself. Vividly conscious of how close she was to William, she sharply turned away before he could realise how much he had affected her. But his hand shot out and grasped her arm, turning her to face him. Before she realised that he really meant to kiss her, his hand curved on her cheek and slowly snaked to the back of her head, drawing it firmly towards his.
‘Then perhaps it’s time you were kissed.’ He smiled, his eyes twinkling bright. ‘I believe I’m quite good at it—and afterwards you can judge for yourself.’
‘How can I do that when I have nothing to compare it with?’ she asked, breathing faster as his lips came close and she braced herself for some unknown sort of physical assault.
‘Then you’ll just have to take my word for it,’ he murmured, his warm breath mingling with hers, his eyes locking on hers, which were frightened, beguiling. ‘You’re not afraid of being kissed, are you, Eleanor?’
Stunned i
nto quiescence, Eleanor shook her head and remained completely still as his lips settled on hers. They were cool and surprisingly smooth as they brushed lightly against her closed mouth. A jolt slammed through her as they began to move on hers, thoroughly and possessively exploring every tender contour. With a feeling that this was all wrong, half-stifled, her head reeling, she found herself imprisoned in a grip of steel, pressed against his hard, muscular length, her breasts coming to rest against his chest, and there was little she could do to escape. Alternate waves seemed to run through her body, but there was also another far more disturbing sensation.
Without taking his lips from hers, William was thinking and behaving like a man intent on seduction. His lips increased their pressure, becoming coaxing as he slid the tip of his tongue into the warm sweetness of her mouth.
Eleanor gasped, totally innocent of the sort of warmth, the passion he was skilfully arousing in her, that poured through her veins with a shattering explosion of delight. It was a kiss like nothing she could have imagined, a kiss of exquisite restraint, and unable to think of anything but the exciting urgency of his mouth and the warmth of his breath, she felt herself falling slowly into a dizzying abyss of sensuality. His hands glided restlessly, possessively, up and down her spine and the nape of her neck, pressing her tightly to his hardened body.
Trailing her hands up the muscles of his chest and shoulders and sliding her fingers into the crisp curly hair at his nape, with a quiet moan of helpless surrender she clung to him, devastated by what he was doing to her, by the raw hunger of his passion. Inside her an emotion she had never experienced before began to sweetly unfold, before vibrantly bursting with a fierceness that made her tremble.
William’s mouth left her lips and shifted across her cheek to her ear, his tongue flicking and exploring each sensitive crevice, then trailing back to her lips and claiming them once more. His kiss became more demanding, ardent, persuasive, a slow, erotic seduction, tender, wanting, his tongue sliding across her lips, urging them to part. Forcing himself to temporarily relinquish her mouth, he raised his head slightly. ‘Kiss me, Eleanor,’ he demanded thickly.
And Eleanor, lost in a wild and beautiful madness and with blood beating in her throat and temples that wiped out all reason and will, did. When she moaned softly beneath the sensual onslaught and opened her mouth and kissed him as deeply and as erotically as he was kissing her, he groaned with pleasure, the sweetness of her response causing desire to explode inside him.
When at last he lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing was harsh and rapid, and gazing up at him Eleanor felt as if she would melt beneath his scorching eyes. Slowly she brought one of her hands from behind his neck and her finger gently traced the outline of his cheek, following its angular line down to his jaw and neck.
‘Well?’ he asked, his voice low and husky, recovering more quickly than Eleanor. Her face was bemused, her eyes unfocused, her soft pink mouth partly open. ‘Do you like being kissed?’ When she did not reply immediately, he grinned and murmured, ‘Surely I cannot have rendered you speechless,’
‘It certainly took my breath, and, yes, I liked it very well,’ she confessed, still drifting between total peace and a strange, delirious joy, while at the same time a feeling of disquiet was creeping over her as her mind came together from the nether regions of the universe where it had fled.
Then, in a split second, Eleanor realised full well what she had done. She! Herself! That much-loved daughter of Edgar Collingwood had brazenly yielded in the arms of the man who had betrayed him. William Marston. A rush of anguish tore through her. She had let him kiss her because of deeper feelings she hardly understood, and to her shame she thought of her parents and Catherine and felt like a traitor.
Releasing his hold on her, William gently cradled her chin in his hand. In the pale glow of the moon she was very lovely, with the dreamy, faraway look in her eyes and the passion his kiss had aroused in her softening her features. The metallic silver of his eyes was dim as, with passion still smouldering within their depths, they looked intently into hers.
‘You have the body of a woman, Eleanor Collingwood, but in worldly experience you are still a child—and I thank God for it.’
‘I’m not such a child that I don’t know the difference between right and wrong,’ she flared, drawing away from him, longing to respond to the look in his eyes, to feel his mouth on hers setting her skin tingling and her blood on fire. But the image of her parents and Catherine stood between them and always would. Nothing could ever erase that.
‘Eleanor? What is it?’
‘You should not have done that. Don’t ever try it again,’ she cried in a suffocated voice. In the light of the moon she saw his soft expression change as her words hit him.
‘Eleanor,’ he murmured, and Eleanor wanted to die because, even now, she loved the sound of her name of his lips.
‘Don’t say my name in that way,’ she said hoarsely.
A light blazed briefly in his eyes, then was extinguished. ‘Come now, Eleanor,’ he managed to say smilingly, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘It was only a kiss.’
‘That should never have happened,’ she said fiercely, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Don’t you realise that? I regret it already—I shall always regret my behaviour just now, and if you are a gentleman you will forget all about it.’
William let out a long sigh and quietly and without emotion, he said, ‘What you ask is impossible, Eleanor. It happened and neither of us can erase it from our minds. I think you should return to your chamber and go to bed. The hour is late. It’s been a long day.’
In a daze of suspended yearning and confusion, Eleanor hesitated as his eyes held hers in one long, compelling look, holding all her frustrated longing, and unfulfilled desires, everything that was between them. That one kiss had been too much and too little, arousing deep feelings she did not fully understand. What had happened between them had been a sudden overwhelming passion, heightened by the intensity of the knowledge that it shouldn’t be happening.
Turning abruptly, she started to walk away from him, but then she turned and looked back. ‘I don’t want a repeat of this, William. I do mean what I say. I have told you that I will never forgive you for what you did to my father, and besides, we have your mother’s feelings to consider so there must be no outward show of intimacy between us. My position in your house is precarious, and to keep on the right side of your mother is important to me. She would be shocked if she knew what had just transpired.’
‘I agree. You are right. It won’t happen again. Goodnight, Eleanor.’
When Eleanor slipped between the sheets, sleep continued to elude her as she tried to understand the turbulent, consuming emotions William was able to arouse in her. With the taste of his kiss still warm on her lips, she was unable to think of anything else. What had happened between them had been a sudden overwhelming, irresistible passion. His gentleness and ardour towards her had shown her something of the man beneath the worldly, harsh surface, and melted her self-engendered resistance.
Within her bed she burrowed deep beneath the covers, curled into a tight ball. She forced herself to suffocate all thoughts of the kiss and the feelings he had roused in her. It should not have happened and was something she preferred to forget, but, try as she might, she was unable to stop herself thinking of the way he had held her, of how it had felt when he had pressed her body to his own—even now it made her pulses race. So lost was she in her reflections that she didn’t notice the moment when sleep claimed her.
Chapter Six
It was a subdued and nervous household that went about its business over the following days, but when a week had passed and nothing had happened, tension eased and they began to relax, but William insisted that a watch was to be kept at all times.
Eleanor felt herself to be in a state of waiting, not knowing how long she would stay at Staxton Hall, but she knew the time would come when there would be decisions to make, plans to co
nsider.
The morning following her arrival she spent helping Anne and Jane alter one of Anne’s gowns for her to wear. It was a subtle shade of yellow with a gossamer-fine green embroidery. The bodice was fitted and the skirt parted at the front to reveal an underskirt of pastel green. The lace on the collar and cuffs, tied with fine green ribbons, reproduced the pattern of the embroidery on the skirt. At her small waist was a belt of gold satin.
‘Oh, yes,’ Anne cried, when they had fitted it on Eleanor. ‘I told you the colour is just perfect for you, and it looks so nice. It suits your colouring and your figure. Go and look in the mirror and tell us what you think.’
Eleanor padded across the floor in her stockinged feet and her reaction when she saw her reflection was all the twins could have asked for.
‘Yes,’ she gasped, laughing gaily, genuinely impressed, allowing herself the luxury of running her hands down the folds of the sumptuous skirt. It was cool to the touch and, looking down, she noted with delight that it was the right length. She knew that the gown was wonderfully becoming to her complexion and to her eyes. ‘It’s perfect. I feel as though I’ve been dressed like a youth for so long I’ve forgotten I have a feminine side.’
‘I assure you no one else has.’
The deep, masculine voice caused Eleanor to spin round to find William on the threshold to her chamber, leaning casually against the door frame. Her heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of his darkly handsome face. His crooked smile and the sparkle in his translucent eyes almost sapped the strength from her knees. She dropped her lashes in sudden confusion as his voice wound around her senses like a coil of dark silk. All at once her heart began to beat in thick, rapid strokes.
When she had got out of bed that morning, in the cold light of day, the kiss they had shared had been uppermost in her mind. Their camaraderie had suddenly changed to something else, something she was going to find hard to deal with while ever she remained in his home.
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