Deceiving an Earl

by Sharon Cullen

  Oliver’s arrival this morning had convinced her that she could not marry William.

  Not that she would ever marry Oliver. On the contrary. She could never live with herself and the secret she must keep while seeing Oliver day in and day out. No, she could never have Oliver.

  But just knowing what kind of life she could have had with him ruined her for any other man.

  William felt no passion for her. There was no excitement when they were together. She could never imagine William taking her against the side of a house, while people danced and socialized just feet away from them.

  “Have you given any thought to what we discussed last night?” William asked.

  “Much,” she admitted.

  His face lit up, and Ellen shifted to face him. “William, I can’t marry you. As much as you think we would suit, I disagree. I am not the wife you need for your practice. I socialize with the fringe of Society. I am friends with actresses, poets, novelists, and musicians.”

  For a moment William was silent, and she could not read his expression. It was so difficult sometimes to determine what he was thinking.

  “In time, people will forget your bohemian ways,” William said.

  “Forget them?”

  “Of course you would have to give up your salons. It’s quite inappropriate for my standing in Society. But we can attend the opera and you can see your friends from afar.”

  She drew back, astounded that he would even think that she would give up her friends for him.

  “I have no intention of giving up my salons or my friends.”

  “Ellen, dear.” He patted her hand. Ellen wanted to yank it away but decided to remain civil. “I understand that you were grieving for your late husband and making new friends might have lessened that grief. But it’s time to return to the Society you were trained for. That’s the Ellen I need.”

  Trained for?

  What he needs?

  She pulled her hand from his. “If you mean by ‘trained’ that I married into the title of countess, then you are correct. But my upbringing was much more humble. My father was a baron. I was not raised as Lady Ellen, but Miss Ellen.”

  He waved his hand in the air. That hand that had saved so many people. “That is of no consequence to me, and that was long ago. I daresay that most people assume you have been a lady your entire life.”

  This conversation was beyond bizarre.

  “William, I’m not giving up my salons. Or my friends. For anyone.”

  His face darkened just as the door opened and Philip and Oliver strolled in, talking quietly to themselves. They both stopped short when they saw Ellen and William sitting close together and talking earnestly.

  William stood but Ellen’s legs had gone weak.

  In the doorway, the similarities were obvious. It was so clear to her that they were father and son.

  And the eyes.

  The eyes were the giveaway.

  The same shade of sky blue—summer sky blue.

  Her gaze was riveted to them, her breath stolen with the lies she’d been living.

  “Ah,” Oliver said as he noticed William. “I wasn’t aware you were entertaining.”

  “Uh. Yes.” Ellen stood on shaking legs. She clasped her hands together so no one would notice how much they trembled. “You’ve met Sir William.”

  Oliver nodded to William, then turned his attention to Ellen. Philip seemed to be scowling at William.

  “Philip and I are finished for now. I will call tomorrow and we can wrap it up.”

  “Of course.”

  He turned to Philip and they shook hands, and Ellen wanted to sink through a hole in the floor. She couldn’t possibly let these two spend any more time together or everything would be ruined. Philip would lose his title, his inheritance, his name.

  “Thank you,” she heard Philip saying, and for once he didn’t seem angry or belligerent.

  “You did well.” Oliver patted Philip on the back, nodded to Ellen, and left.

  Philip didn’t bother with pleasantries, he simply vanished through the door, and she could hear him running up the steps to his rooms.

  William faced her, his expression hard, his gaze piercing. “Well. Ellen. It seems you have some explaining to do.”

  Her heart dropped, and she felt the blood rush from her head. It took all of her effort not to sway, to smile and look innocent instead of panicked.

  “Lord Armbruster is helping Philip learn about being an earl. Things that Arthur never had a chance to teach him.”

  William cocked his head to the side, and Ellen felt like a small rabbit in the sights of a relentless hunting dog. He knew. William knew her secret and all she could think to do was deny everything, get William out of here quickly, and cut all ties to him.

  “Philip is not Arthur’s son, is he, Ellen?”

  She drew back and tried to appear shocked and offended. “Of course Philip is Arthur’s son.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Lady Fieldhurst had an affair and lied to her husband, pretending Philip was his. That’s quite a big lie to live with all these years.”

  Ellen was struck mute. She had dreaded this moment for more than a decade, and every argument she had devised, every word she had promised she would say in defense of Philip and Arthur, vanished. She had no words, just flustered thoughts that flitted through her brain.

  Run. Hit William on the head with the nearby vase. Sink to the floor in a dead faint to keep him from talking.

  But she did none of those things. She was embarrassed to discover that she had no backbone, no strength, nothing to save herself.

  “Such a stupid fool Armbruster is to be cuckolded all of these years.” He chuckled, and Ellen’s hand whipped out and her palm connected with William’s cheek.

  They both stood there, stunned, as the slap reverberated through the room. She’d never hit anyone in all of her life, but her anger was so sharp and real when he’d laughed at Oliver that she hadn’t been able to control herself.

  A large red welt the size of her palm slowly darkened on William’s face. His expression went from shocked to furious, and his eyes went flat with anger. He grabbed her wrist in a painful grip that made her cry out, and he yanked her toward him until she bounced against his chest and the air rushed out of her.

  “Don’t ever hit me again. Do you understand, Ellen?”

  She nodded, thinking she would never be in the same room with him again and therefore would never have the need to slap him.

  He leaned toward her until his mouth was near her ear. She tried to pull away, to create distance, because her skin was crawling, but he wouldn’t give quarter, and his grasp was bruising, the bones in her wrist rubbing against each other.

  “I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered, causing goose bumps of fear to rise along her arms. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  His words did not make her feel better, because she sensed there was more. In the past two days she had seen a side of William that she had never seen before. A dark, terrible side.

  He released her wrist and she rubbed it. “That is, as long as you wed me, your secret is safe.”

  She looked at him in horror. “No,” she whispered. She could never marry this man. This monster. He had everyone fooled. The queen, his colleagues. Her.

  He straightened his cuffs and adjusted them. “Oh, yes. We will wed and Philip’s inheritance, his name, his title, will all be safe. Of course, he will return to Eton next semester and will stay there. I won’t have that insolent bastard darkening my doorstep, but at least he will have everything he thinks is due him. As for Lord Armbruster, you will never speak to him again. He will never be allowed at our home and you will never cross paths with him outside of our home. You will always have a servant of my choosing with you at all times when you leave the house. I can’t risk another…indiscretion…with a former lover.”

  He finally looked at her, and there was no life in his eyes. They were dead. No emotion. Nothing. She feared that sh
e was seeing the true William.

  He was cutting her off from everything. Everyone she knew. Her own son, even.

  But if she didn’t comply. If she didn’t marry him, Philip would lose everything.

  “Well? What is your answer, dear? I haven’t all day. People need me, and don’t think I’ll give you time to think about this. Yes or no?”

  She swallowed. She so badly wanted to say no, to spit in his face, to slap him again and walk away. But she couldn’t afford to, and he knew it. He had her cornered.

  “Why?” she asked instead. “Why me?”

  “Because we suit.”

  “No, we don’t. I would never willingly marry someone as coldhearted as you.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “Then we’re both coldhearted, because it takes a coldhearted bitch to sleep with another man and lie to her husband, letting him believe the whelp is his own child.”

  She flinched at the barbed words. He believed that she’d slept with Oliver while married to Arthur. She hadn’t, but was there much difference in what she had done?

  “Come now, Ellen. Stop prevaricating and give me your answer. I have a cadaver and a roomful of students waiting for me.”

  “Y-yes.”

  He grinned. “Very good, love. I will place an announcement in the paper. Everyone will know by tomorrow.”

  Every word he spoke felt like a death sentence. She was agreeing to life imprisonment. She would constantly be followed, constantly monitored, and she probably would never see Philip again after this summer, not to mention Oliver.

  William stepped toward her, and it took all of her willpower not to cower or back away. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She cried out in pain and surprise, but he swallowed her cries with a brutal kiss that ground his teeth against hers, bruising her lips. It was a kiss of power and dominance.

  He pulled away and before she could react his hand flew out and he slapped her so hard that her head whipped to the side. It happened so fast that she didn’t even cry out.

  “Be mindful, Ellen. What you do to me I will return tenfold.”

  He walked out, closing the door behind him. She could hear him speaking to her butler, and then he was gone.

  Hand covering her cheek, she sank to the couch and let her tears fall.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Oliver read the announcement twice before his mind could absorb the implications. Unfortunately, he’d just taken a bite of toast and it dried up in his mouth until it felt like sand.

  Surely the paper got it wrong. Ellen was not going to marry that twit, Needham. She couldn’t.

  Could she?

  He threw down his napkin and stood, determined to get to the heart of this…this…lie.

  He was knocking on Ellen’s door before proper calling hours, but he didn’t care. On the way to her house all he could think about was that there had to be some mistake. She would laugh and say it was a misprint.

  The butler let him in with a disapproving frown and showed him to the parlor.

  She made him wait a long while, and the longer he waited the more anxious he became. He’d been so certain of his future. He’d been convinced that Ellen was meant to be his wife and they’d merely had to wait years to make it so. Had he been wrong? Had they only had that one opportunity and they’d lost it?

  This all felt like a terrible déjà vu.

  Ellen entered, looking pale and hesitant, wearing a gray gown that did not help the sallowness of her skin, and still she looked beautiful to him.

  He tried to smile but it faltered as she drew closer.

  “Why are you here, Oliver?”

  “You know why.”

  She looked away, and his heart plummeted. It was true. It wasn’t a misprint. She was marrying Needham.

  “Why, Ellen?”

  She sighed and drifted away from him to place her hand on the back of the couch.

  “We suit,” she said.

  “Bollocks. What about the ball? Outside? What we did together?”

  Her face colored. “Oliver, please. This is unacceptable, and we cannot discuss it.”

  “We damn well can discuss it. It was only days ago that you gave yourself to me, and now this?”

  “I fear you think it meant more than it really did.”

  “I know it meant more. I know it, Ellen.”

  “You’re wrong, Oliver. There is nothing between us except friendship. There will always only be friendship.”

  His heart was being ripped from his chest. He was angry and hurt.

  “He’s beneath you.”

  “He’s knighted. He’s a valued physician and professor. He’s a consult to the royal family. That’s hardly beneath me.”

  “You are grasping at straws. People will talk. They will say you’re marrying beneath your station. You’re a countess, for God’s sake.”

  She lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed. “They talk now, anyway.”

  “But you’re still accepted in Society.”

  “And I will be with William, too.”

  “Ellen.” He took a step closer to her, and she backed up. “Don’t do this.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why? Why do you have to?”

  “I…I want this, Oliver.”

  “Do you? Do you truly?”

  She hesitated, and he felt a moment of thrill that she was wavering. Maybe he had a slim chance, and a slim chance was better than no chance.

  “I truly do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Her expression softened, and for a moment he thought she was going to reach out to him, but she didn’t.

  “It’s not up to you to understand. You don’t need to understand, because none of this concerns you. We had something wonderful once, a long time ago.”

  “And just a few days ago.”

  She shook her head. “No, Oliver.”

  He refused to believe that their lovemaking had meant so little to her. Ellen may have bohemian friends, but she did not live a bohemian lifestyle.

  “You cried in my arms. I told you my plans for us, that we were finally going to make it, to be together, and you cried. You didn’t tell me we don’t suit. You didn’t say that we will only ever be friends.”

  “You can’t come around here anymore,” she said.

  He felt as if she’d punched him in the gut, and he wanted to fold in half with the pain of it.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said.

  She lifted her chin. “I do.”

  “What about Philip? There are still things I need to teach him.” What about me?

  “Philip will be fine. He’ll learn in other ways.”

  “What? Needham is going to teach him?” He scoffed, but inside he was devastated. She was taking Philip from him. She was taking everything from him, his hopes and dreams for his future.

  “Of course not. I will figure something out.”

  “I promised the headmaster I would ensure that his behavior had improved.”

  “I will talk to the headmaster myself. The Fieldhurst name is prominent. I’m certain that with a little persuasion the headmaster will allow Philip to return next semester.”

  “And what about Philip himself? What does he say to all of this?”

  She hesitated. “In time he will understand.”

  He felt as if there was more she was saying but through his pain he couldn’t grasp what.

  “So this is it? Our entire past is gone? There is no future?”

  She lifted her chin. “There never was a future for us, Oliver.”

  It felt as if a door had closed and he was in a windowless, airless room. Suffocating.

  …

  Oliver rolled out of his unkempt bed and winced at his throbbing head. Everything on him hurt. The alcohol had numbed his emotions, but not enough, and even that was wearing off.

  He reached for the decanter of port only to become enraged when he found it empty. He hollered for Richard, furious that the man had l
eft the decanter empty when Oliver needed it the most.

  But Richard didn’t come trotting in full of apologies with another full decanter. Oliver hollered again, louder this time, and was relieved when his summons resulted in the door opening. But it wasn’t Richard who came striding in.

  “Where’s Richard?” Oliver asked. His voice was rough from consuming too much alcohol and not enough sleep.

  “I sent him home,” Ashland said.

  “Home?” Did Richard have a home? Oliver assumed the man lived in the servant’s quarters below.

  “Good God, man, you look like hell.”

  “Piss off.”

  Ashland made a humming noise as he picked his way toward the windows and pulled back the heavy draperies. Oliver covered his eyes as the sun came streaming through, blinding him.

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  Ashland eyed him critically. “How long have you slept in those clothes?”

  Oliver looked down at his trousers and a shirt that was so wrinkled it would have been embarrassing if he cared.

  “You need a bath. You reek of alcohol.”

  “What didn’t you understand about piss off?”

  “Oh, I understood.”

  The door opened again, and a footman entered, his gaze flickering to Oliver then away as he slunk in and placed a full breakfast tray on a table, then scurried out.

  “What’s this?” Oliver asked.

  “Food. Sustenance.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Eat anyway.”

  Oliver glared at Ashland, but his friend just stared placidly back. There had been a time—two times, actually—when Oliver had done the same for Ashland. When Ashland’s first wife, Cora, had died in childbirth, and Oliver had very much feared that Ashland’s grief would send him to the grave, and when Ashland had been attacked by Charlotte’s murderous cousin and no one had known if he would survive.

  Oliver knew that Ashland was giving back to him, but he didn’t want it. He didn’t want Ashland’s pity or his insights into Ellen’s engagement. He didn’t want to be saved.

  His stomach grumbled loudly, and Ashland smirked.

  Oliver marched over to the food and sat down to eat.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” Ashland asked.