Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy)

by Grace Elliot

  “Now why didn’t you tell me straight away? Wasn’t all that time over soppy stuff whilst this poor little thing is starving.”

  Huntley was only too happy to stand back and let the old woman fuss.

  “Thank you,” Eulogy mouthed, stretching on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek.

  “Ah, but that’s not all.”

  “No?”

  “And I found who purchased the painting of Gilbert on your knee, the one from the Summer Exhibition, and bought it back. A gift for Mrs. Featherstone. It will be delivered tomorrow afternoon. Something for her to remember him by.”

  Eulogy’s heart filled with love for this complicated man. At that moment she felt brim full of happiness and then on its heels came another emotion, fear. Could she truly believe in his intentions or like before in her life would she lose what she valued most?

  Chapter 16

  With only four weeks to Christmas, London shivered under a leaden sky. In Farrell’s studio, with the fire well banked, the artist worked in fingerless mittens. Fortunately for his model, Farrell’s painting had a huntress theme and so Eulogy posed swathed in fur. Ordinarily, she had no difficulty keeping still, but today she was restless as a grasshopper and all because of Jack Huntley. At his last visit, he’d seemed so excited, grinning randomly and evading her questions, and for tonight’s excursion he’d bid her dress warmly. He was up to something and no mistake.

  Tristan rubbed his forehead. “You’ve a strange look about yer today. Not sickening are yer?”

  “No, no. A lot on my mind, that’s all.”

  Farrell disappeared back behind the easel.

  This craving for Jack’s company concerned her. When with him she felt so alive, he’d been a regular visitor of late, and she thought of him constantly when apart. Eulogy sighed. She was almost certain he felt the same, but even if he proposed, was marriage worth the sacrifice to her freedom? Thanks to Farrell’s success she was comfortably off, with independent means and if she married, everything changed. She shivered. It was a husband’s right to insist his wife gave up work. Farrell was a genius, but without her would he still have the inspiration to paint?

  “Mauvoreen, are you cold? Shall we stop?”

  “No, no, please carry on.”

  After a day that seemed to last forever, eventually evening fell and at the appointed hour, not a moment earlier, nor later, there came a heavy rap on the door.

  “That’ll be your beau,” Mrs. Featherstone called upstairs, her voice bursting with excitement.

  “He’s not my beau.” Eulogy gripped the banister as the sound of Mrs. Featherstone’s chattering voice, and another, deeper tone, drifted up the stairwell. Her legs suddenly weak she descended a step at a time, she got half way down when Huntley glanced up and his expression froze.

  Their eyes locked, setting Eulogy’s heart bounding against the confines of her ribs.

  “You look stunning,” he said simply, the whole weight of his attention on her.

  “Mrs. Featherstone has done me proud.”

  The housekeeper had styled Eulogy’s hair high with soft curls that artfully framed her face. Dressed in a gown of kingfisher blue, a winter rose from Huntley’s bouquet pinned to her bodice, the result was simple yet breathtaking.

  Eulogy blushed under his scrutiny, not oblivious to the fact that Huntley also looked utterly devastating. Those hazel eyes devouring her greedily, and wearing skin tight breeches and a jacket by Brummell’s tailor, his chiseled physique was most distractingly displayed.

  Jack cleared his throat.

  “I took the precaution of bringing this.” He shook out the velvet opera cloak that hung over his arm. “It’s cold out.”

  Nerves tingling at his proximity, with exquisite slowness he drew the cloak up beneath her chin and fastened the clasp; his hand brushed her skin and she trembled.

  “Take good care of her,” Mrs. Featherstone chattered on, oblivious to the tension between them.

  “You can be sure of that. Miss Foster, shall we go?”

  Stepping outside Eulogy gazed open mouthed at a magical night sky, the moon a silvery disc shimmering behind a streaks of mist.

  “Beautiful!” Her breathe steamed on the chill air. “What a magical night to be out. Where are we going?”

  “Come, you’ll find out in good time.”

  “A surprise!”

  Huntley winked and for the boyish delight lighting his face, she bit her tongue on further questions and gave herself up to the mystery. Their footsteps echoed on the frosted pavement as Huntley escorted her to the waiting carriage. But as he handed her up the carriage step, Eulogy felt his muscles bunch and tense.

  “Who’s there?” Alert as a terrier, he spun around. “Show yourself.”

  A hunched figure disengaged from the shadows. Icy fear twisted Eulogy’s guts and she gasped.

  “Get in,” Huntley hissed, pushed her none too gently into the carriage and slammed the door. Eulogy gripped the ledge, watching as he faced the approaching figure. Huntley’s hand went to his waist, reaching for some concealed weapon as a man, emerged out of the darkness. Silhouetted in the moonlight, his shadow fell long across the pavement, touching the toes of Huntley’s hessians.

  “What do you want?” his voice rumbled a challenge. Suddenly, Eulogy feared not for herself, but for Jack. She whimpered with indecision, wanting to help but knowing she should stay in the carriage. Then she remembered the driver’s presence and forced herself to be calm.

  But then at a noise in the darkness, a rapid trit-trot of footsteps, the man turned and a child came trotting out of the mist. With an exclamation of annoyance the hunched man cuffed the boy, grasped his ear and led him away down the street.

  Jack’s shoulders slumped, his exhaled breath steamed the air, and he climbed into the carriage.

  “Are you all right?”

  Eulogy nodded, trying to calm the pulsing knot of dread in her chest. “What’s the matter with me?” She attempted to laugh. “Being frightened of old man and a boy!” But in truth, what alarmed her more, was the depth of her feeling for Jack.

  “Quite understandable.”

  “I feel so stupid.”

  “No, you could never be stupid. It’s the moon. It throws ghostly shadows and makes the normal seem unearthly.”

  But the tension on Jack’s face seemed at odds with his words, a tension in his bearing that was far from reassuring.

  Rattling along beneath the full moon, the carriage made swift progress through the deserted streets. A silvered mist rose off the ground, a reminder of the march on which the capital was built. The grand terraces soon rattled past and turning south, the buildings soon became darker and more menacing, and then the attenuated cry of a ferry man rose on the breeze. With some distance between them and their strange encounter, the mood lifted once again.

  “We’re heading for the river?” Eulogy tried to make sense of what appeared to be warehouses.

  “Perhaps.” Huntley grinned.

  “But there are no theatres, no galleries by the river.”

  “Just be patient, wait and see.”

  At that moment the carriage slowed and the driver rapped on the roof with his whip.

  “Right ho. We’re there,” Jack said.

  “But where is there?”

  Bemused Eulogy stared at more warehouses leading down to a wharf.

  “Patience or you’ll spoil my surprise.”

  Jack jumped out and spanning her waist with his hands, lifted her down, deliciously aware of the heavy drag of his breath. She felt delicate, feminine, and thrilled to the core. She glanced around and found herself standing in a back lane between two warehouses, it smelt of damp and neglect, the cobbles greasy underfoot.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s a surprise. Trust me.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  His arm slid possessively round her waist and she leant into him, sheltering against the reassuring bulk of his presence.

&n
bsp; “Let’s walk.”

  The carriage had stopped in a lane between two warehouses. On either side, dark, dank walls towered high overhead, with hoists in ghostly outline against the stars. A strange deserted place the like of which Eulogy had never seen before. Her senses strained against the darkness as Huntley led her toward an alley. As they walked, the hiss and swish of the Thames grew louder, and she smelt the river before she saw it. Then, rounding a corner, across a cobbled road, a wide expanse of black-as-ink water, boiling and surging, unwound before them.

  She glanced at Huntley. “What are we doing here?”

  “Patience, my sweeting, patience. Any moment now, just you wait and see.”

  Puzzled, she regarded the river once again. Then she heard it, the splash of oars, and saw a lantern, drifting closer. She gasped as slowly the disparate shapes approaching in the darkness, gelled into a magnificent shallop with six pairs of oars, now raised in salute.

  “Oh my!” She stared at Jack in bewilderment.

  “Don’t look at me…although I understand your fascination. There! You transport for the evening.”

  A gilt shallop, as long as ten men are tall, with a covered tilt and pennants fluttering from the silk canopy, tied up to the berth

  Eulogy blinked and stared,

  “Am I dreaming?”

  “No.” Huntley laughed, squeezing her hand. “She’s a genuine Elizabethan barge, belonged to some great-great-ancestor or other who used it to visit the old Queen at court.”

  As she stepped to the jetty edge, Eulogy drank in the carved gilt cherubs, trailing ribbons amidst the Tudor roses dotted along the prow.

  “Can we go on board?” Her dark eyes shone with excitement.

  “Of course.”

  Despite the vessels size, the gangplank dipped alarmingly and Eulogy silently gave thanks for Huntley’s steadying grip. The deck rocked on the swell as Jack helped her to the tilt, where, grateful for the safety of a pile of cushions, she reclined beneath the canopy, feeling like royalty. With solicitous care Huntley placed a hot stone at her feet and tucked a bear skin rug round her legs, never had she felt so special.

  “The Thames is enchanting by night, if a little chilly,” he explained, grinning broadly. “Some Champagne?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He produced two glasses from a velvet lined box.

  “I hope you don’t mind our serving ourselves?”

  “Of course not.”

  He held out a glass full of bubbles, their fingers touched, and her heart fizzed in response. Giddy with the magic of it, Eulogy had no need for alcohol to make her heart sing.

  A piercing whistle broke the silence, and with an answering shout from the crew, ropes were cast off and the shallop set adrift. A short distance from the quay, oars dipped slickly into the water and with a steady, darting dip and pull, the boat slid away from the jetty.

  Emboldened by champagne, Eulogy patted the cushions. “Come. Sit with me.”

  In the lamplight, a broad figure folded to sit beside her, radiating warmth and strength, and it thrilled her to the core.

  Rapidly, the shallop made for the center channel, quickly picked up speed in the current, rapidly leaving the arched barge houses behind.

  “This is utterly romantic. Thank you.”

  “If you think this romantic, I can do better.”

  At a click of his fingers, somewhere on board a flutist struck up sweet, soulful cadence that hovered hauntingly on the chill air.

  “How wonderful!” She fluttered a kiss against his cheek, conscious of a heady mix of cologne and masculinity. The taste of man lingered on her lips as she wondered at her brazenness. Huntley quivered; his coiled tension spoke of a restraint more erotic than any kiss as he settled back against the cushions to point out landmarks.

  “That building, Somerset House, has its own private docks. Not so long ago the river was the fastest way to travel.” He angled his head, watching as the building slid past, but if he was held by the scenery, Eulogy’s gaze was fixed on the angle of his jaw and the tantalizing bump of his Adam’s apple as he talked. Damn, he was temptation personified. Be it from the gentle rocking of the boat, the champagne or his proximity, Eulogy’s body buzzed with desire.

  So when his arm settled heavily around her shoulder, it was with something akin to relief that she snuggled closer, intoxicated by the scent of musk and male warmth.

  “London looks so different from the water.” She sighed.

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Truly heaven,” Eulogy breathed, forcing her gaze from Huntley to the sky. Lying on silk cushions, gliding along the Thames beneath a canopy of stairs, she sighed, deliciously aware of the rise and fall of his muscular chest. It felt right. Safe. As if, she belonged there.

  Together they gazed up at the inky blackness streaked with silver, an iridescent halo shimmering round the moon.

  “How bright the moon and stars. How wide the sky,” Huntley whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her cheek.

  Senses heightened, his leonine maleness claimed her wits and she had to command herself to breathe. Slowly, his hand cupped her chin, his gaze locked with hers, as gently placing his lips against her mouth and insides turned to honey. His touch was light, playful and teasing against her thirsting mouth as greedy for more, she threaded her fingers through his hair to pull him closer. A new, powerful beat slammed her body, a liquid need at her core.

  In the private sanctuary of the covered tilt, Jack filled her senses. As he fluttered kisses down her neck, she arched eagerly to his touch. She gripped his arms, to anchor herself in a world awash with waves of desire. She could feel the bulk of his muscles through his coat, sculpted and hard, knotted with desire. That she could arouse him so made her feel powerful, as her breath came in jerky gasps. Like a drugged man Jack watched, his eyes bright with longing. Then slowly, he drew away.

  “I need to ask you something.”

  Eulogy fell from heaven, to earth. No longer the naive fool she had once been, as it dawned on her that the romance and the barge, were nothing but an elaborate seduction and it had almost worked. She felt sick with disappointment.

  “Miss Foster…Eulogy.”

  “Hush.” Foolish though it was, she wanted to cling to this moment, to imagine he cared for just a little longer.

  “A long time ago I asked you something…”

  “And the answer is still no.” Had she not been stuck on a barge in the middle of the Thames, she would have made a dignified exit.

  “But you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

  “I can guess and the answer is no.”

  Jack regarded her strangely and then to her surprise, he rose to his feet. The boat rocked alarmingly.

  “What are you doing? You’ll have us over!”

  She cast around for a hand hold as Jack arranged his long limbs to kneel at her feet.

  “Miss Foster, for some time now I have held you in the highest regard.”

  He covered her hands, but she pulled away.

  “Miss Foster, I love you.”

  A pulse surged at the base of her throat, betraying her emotions, and yet she knew the truth—that love was not enough.

  “…and I cannot imagine a future without you.”

  Eulogy tipped her nose to the stars, shutting out his dangerous words. “I will be no man’s mistress.”

  She felt, rather than saw, him frown.

  “Did I miss something? That wasn’t what I mean to say.”

  “Well, you implied it.”

  He reached out, touching her face, turning her to look into his eye.

  “Eulogy, you can be infuriatingly stubborn at times, if you’d just let me finish. I was about to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Perhaps it was the champagne, or the romance of the moment, but she could swear he had proposed.

  Patiently, Jack enfolded her slim, gloved hand and raised it to his lips.

  “Now you are lis
tening, Miss Foster, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Eulogy forced away euphoria. Think! Much as she desired him at that moment, could she trust him? She said the first thing that came into her head.

  “Could I still pose for Farrell?”

  “Of course. I could not deprive Farrell of his muse.”

  “Oh.” A thousand thoughts careered round her head, but none of them made sense. Was he teasing her? Trying to teach her a lesson or use her to his own purpose? Social position and appearances were everything to a proud man like Jack Huntley, he wouldn’t marry a nobody. What then? Perhaps he knew her secret and wanted to use her to hurt Devlin. Hastily she dismissed the idea. No, it had to be something else.

  Then a horrible suspicion struck.

  “Would the marriage be public knowledge…or secret?” She held her breath.

  With a soft look Jack pressed kisses into her palm, sending ripples of warmth across her skin.

  “If you agree, then I want the world to know. We shall have an engagement party and invite the whole ton.”

  “But I am no-one. Your standing would not allow—”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “That time in Hyde Park, you denied me to Miss Cartwright.”

  “I’ve regretted those words every day since.”

  “Then why say them?”

  “Because I was weak, because I couldn’t admit I loved you, even to myself. I panicked. But these past weeks have been torture. Worrying about you, loving you from afar. Now I know the future lies with you alone.”

  “Oh, in that case,” Eulogy’s said, her voice wavering, “yes, I will marry you.”

  With a whoop, he jumped to his feet, cracking his head against the canopy. He hopped around the deck, rubbing his temple.

  “Careful!” She giggled, as the shallop listed heavily. “You’ll have us in the Thames yet.”

  But even as her heart soared, so quiet dread intruded on happiness. He had been honest with her, now it was her turn.

  “Jack, please sit down. There’s something I must tell you.”

  He settled beside her and kissed her cheek, drawing her hand up to his lips. “Later,” he breathed, “Tell me later.”