Deceiving an Earl

by Sharon Cullen

  “You can help by walking away from us.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “We are nothing to you.”

  When he didn’t respond she glanced up at him to find a look of profound disappointment and sadness in him.

  “Is that what you think? That you are nothing to me?”

  “Oliver.” She shouldn’t have said that. What had she been thinking to hurt him in such a way?

  “Because I love you, Ellen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Oliver’s words dropped into the silence between them. Ellen opened her mouth to deny them, to tell him that he couldn’t possibly love her, that if he only knew what she had done to him, the secrets she’d kept, he would despise her.

  But of course she couldn’t say any of that so instead she said, “Oliver, don’t.”

  “No.” He shook his head in a way that told her he’d made a decision. “I’m not going to be quiet about this anymore. I’m not going to stand back and watch you make such a monumental mistake. Not again.”

  “Arthur was not a mistake.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you did. You said ‘not again.’”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “If not for Arthur there wouldn’t be Philip. That was not a mistake.”

  “Is that true, Ellen?” He cocked his head to stare at her.

  She paused. “Marrying William is not a mistake, either,” she said softly. It was a very calculated risk.

  “Ellen.” He ran a hand through his hair and breathed out in frustration. “We need to be honest with each other.”

  Ellen stood and paced to the other end of the room when what she really wanted to do was run away, hide. From everything. From William, from Oliver, from herself.

  “I told you I loved you.” He stood as well.

  “Oliver—”

  “Please, let me finish. I think I’ve loved you from that first kiss under the tree, and I’ve never stopped. Not once. I think… I think the reason I never married was because no one measured up to you. I tried. I searched. But no one compared.”

  “Oh, Oliver.” Her heart was breaking, and she didn’t think her heart could break any more than it already had. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just tell me the truth.”

  She drew in a deep breath, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t do it. She’d held her secret for so long that she physically couldn’t tell him. And there was still that fear of ruining everyone’s lives. And then there was William, who was threatening everything.

  But she could tell him one thing. One thing that was completely the truth.

  “That night, that first night with you, was everything that I had hoped being with a man might be. You said you fell in love with me under the tree. I fell in love with you long before that. But we were doomed. We are destined to be doomed, to never be able to express our love to each other.”

  “At least you admit your love, but I refuse to believe we are doomed.”

  She paced to the other side of the room and stopped before the fireplace, agitated and sad that their lives would always be interrupted, never completed. She did love this man. He was kind and gentle and always willing to lend a helping hand.

  “You must,” she said. “You must come to terms with the fact that we can never be together.”

  “Why?” His expression was determined, as if he could will her to change her mind.

  “There are circumstances that are beyond your control. For a man who is always in control I know that is hard to accept, but there are some things that will not bend to your will.”

  He laughed, a harsh laugh. “Oh, I know that. You will never bend to my will.”

  She smiled and for a moment they shared a warm look, two lovers who had known each other for eternity and shared a love that would never die, even if it was doomed.

  “Is he blackmailing you, Ellen?”

  Her smile evaporated, the warmth quickly replaced by a cold fear that she had learned to associate with William.

  “Is he?”

  “Let’s just say that my choices have more to do with those I love than anything else.”

  He looked at her closely, as if he could delve into her mind and extract her thoughts and secrets. Oh, if only he could, then she wouldn’t have to voice them.

  “I can help you.”

  “You can’t. You might think you can, but you can’t.”

  “Then this is it? Your choice is made?”

  For a long moment she didn’t speak, because the words wouldn’t form. But then she thought of Philip and his legacy and inheritance and she knew she had no choice. She never had. Not since that moment when she’d realized Philip was Oliver’s son and she’d chosen to keep it her secret. Her course had been set from then on, and it was far too late to change it now.

  “My choice is made, and I have chosen William.”

  She could see the hope drain from him. She wanted to take the words back but knew she couldn’t.

  “Very well,” he said. “I won’t be back again, just so you know. There are only so many times I’ll come begging.”

  “I understand.”

  “But know this. If you ever need me you know where to find me.”

  Her throat closed up with so many emotions that she could only nod. Part of her felt good knowing that he would always be there for her, even while she knew she would never reach out to him. William had made it clear that she was not to speak to Oliver again. Even this meeting was dangerous for her.

  He walked to the door and she watched him go, desperately wanting to run after him, to beg him to stay and help her.

  His hand on the knob, he turned to look at her with blue eyes so much like their son’s.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, “if Philip were my son.”

  Dinner that night was mostly a silent affair. Ellen had not even wanted to eat but she knew her time with Philip was ending soon. He would return to Eton in a few weeks, and who knew when William would allow him back.

  But few words were spoken. Philip kept his gaze on his plate, and Ellen just moved her food around on hers.

  They were both startled by a commotion at the front door. Ellen was halfway out of her seat and Philip’s fork was suspended in the air when William came crashing in.

  “William,” Ellen said in surprise.

  He looked a bit wild, his hair disheveled, his eyes flat.

  Philip put his fork down and rose slowly, his expression wary as he trained his one good eye on William.

  “We need to talk,” William said. His fingers tapped the side of his leg in agitation.

  “Of course. Philip, if you’ll excuse us.”

  Philip hesitated, looking between Ellen and William.

  “It will be fine,” she said with a forced smile.

  William started shifting from foot to foot.

  Philip sidled past William, keeping a wary eye on him, and exited.

  Ellen felt exposed and vulnerable alone in the room with William. Casually, she moved so that the width of the dining room table was between them.

  William paced the length of the room, his fingers tap, tap, tapping on his thigh. She’d never seen him like this before.

  He suddenly stopped and looked at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  She swallowed the bile that had crawled up her throat. “Find what out?”

  “Don’t patronize me, Ellen. I know. I know everything. You can’t do anything without me knowing.”

  She looked around as if there were eyes staring at her from every corner and through the windows. Had he bribed her servants? Did he have the house watched?

  “He was here. Armbruster.”

  She forced herself to visibly relax. “Yes, he was here. Philip had gone to him for some…help. And Oliver brought him back.”

  William shook his head. “You lie.”

  “I’m not lying. I promise you that was what happened.
You can even ask him.” She despised herself for the pleading tone in her voice.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I told you that I know everything. Did you think I would trust you?” He laughed, and the sound sent chills down her back.

  He moved to the head of the table, where she had been sitting. Her dinner was still on the plate, untouched. William picked it up and hurled it at the wall. China shattered. Gravy dripped down the wall in grotesque globules. Ellen jumped and slid to the side, away from William, but in two strides he was beside her, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip that made her gasp.

  “You defied my strict orders.”

  “William, you’re hurting me.” She tried to tug away, but he merely tightened his grip, digging his fingers into her arm until she swore he was bending her bone.

  His eyes were bloodshot, and fine tremors were coursing through him.

  “I told you never to see him again.”

  She lifted her chin, more angry than scared. How dare this man control her in such a way?

  “He knows, William. He knows about Philip.”

  William stilled, and his eyes narrowed.

  “You told him?”

  “No. He suspected. Just like you did, and he came to me and asked me to be honest with him, and I was.” She was lying, but she would do anything to get away from William. She couldn’t marry this monster. She couldn’t trust him with her life because she feared that someday he would kill her in a fit of rage.

  How did no one see this side of him? How had she missed this part of him?

  “You lying bitch.”

  The punch came without warning, close-fisted and backed by the immense power of him. She was so stunned that she didn’t even have time to cry out. She reeled sideways, her hand going to her numb cheekbone. That punch was quickly followed by another, this one to her side, causing her to gasp and double over.

  He pushed her and she fell, hitting her head on the edge of the table with a whack that vibrated through her entire body. For a moment she lay on the carpet she and Arthur had picked out together, stunned, blinking, unable to focus.

  Through the haze of pain, she glimpsed William’s face, twisted in fury and something so terrifying that she couldn’t name it. He drew his leg back and kicked her in the stomach. She curled into a ball, covering her vulnerable midsection with crossed arms, but he kept raining kicks on her. Her thigh. Her hip. Her upper arm. Over and over he kicked her, and all she could do was roll into a tighter ball and protect herself as best she could.

  She glimpsed a chair leg and beyond that the table leg. If she could just get under the table he wouldn’t be able to kick her. Slowly she uncurled herself and reached forward, grasping the table leg. Thank God Arthur had believed in purchasing quality furniture. It had taken four men to move this table. She dragged her aching body a few inches forward, then a few more.

  She was kicked in the stomach again and had to stop because the breath rushed out of her. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out because she couldn’t breathe, but eventually her lungs loosened their hold and she pulled in a breath. With the breath came courage and determination, and she pulled harder. She was nearly halfway under the table when she felt William grab her ankles and yank her out. She wanted to cry in frustration, but instead she reached for the table leg again.

  William stepped on her hand, and she heard bones crunch. She screamed as fire raced up her arm and blurred her vision.

  The last thing she saw was his foot heading toward her face.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Frantic pounding on the front door had Oliver emerging from his study to see what all the commotion was about as a footman hurried to the door and opened it.

  Philip tumbled in, red-faced and gasping for air.

  “What the hell.” Oliver grabbed the boy by the shoulders before he fell over. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, drawing in deep breaths.

  “Mother…”

  “What’s happened? Did you run all the way here?” Oliver asked.

  Philip nodded and pushed himself up. “Mother. Needs. Help.”

  “What happened?” Oliver and the footman shared a worried look. He could barely make out what Philip was saying.

  “Is something wrong with Ellen?” he asked.

  Philip nodded. “William.” Another gasp. “Come.”

  A sick, cold feeling swept through Oliver, and he barked orders to ready his horse. Ellen didn’t live too far away but it would still be faster to ready the horse and ride over there. He would throw Philip on the back with him.

  The horse was ready in minutes and they were racing down the street to the horror and intrigue of pedestrians out for an evening stroll.

  Oliver’s mind raced with all possibilities. What had William done to her? What would cause Philip to run all this way to find Oliver and beg for help?

  Oliver pulled the horse up sharp at Ellen’s door and they both jumped off. The door was already open, her butler waving them in frantically.

  “He told us to leave her,” he said as Oliver raced through the entryway to the back of the house. “But we couldn’t do that. We’ve locked all the doors so he can’t get back in. The servants are terrified.” They stopped in front of the closed door to the dining room. The butler hesitated and looked at Oliver gravely. “It’s bad.”

  He opened the door and at first Oliver didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The room appeared empty. Then he saw a shattered plate and food congealing on the wallpaper. A chair had been tipped over, and he heard a moan from the other side of the table.

  He stepped around it and what he saw nearly brought him to his knees. Beside him, Philip gasped and made a strangled sound.

  “Good God.” Oliver hurried over and dropped to his knees, spreading his arms wide, not knowing where to touch. So much blood.

  There was so much blood everywhere. On the carpet, the chair legs, the table leg. Her hair glistened with it, and her face was unrecognizable. He knew it was Ellen because he would recognize her in any situation. But never had he thought to see this.

  Her face was so severely battered that her eyes were mere slits. Her lips were bleeding. She had a deep cut on her cheek.

  The housekeeper was on the other side of her, trying to clean her up. “I think her fingers are broken,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “All of them?” He looked up at her and saw his own horror reflected in her eyes.

  “All on one hand. I haven’t been able to roll her over to check the rest. I’m afraid to.”

  “I’ve sent for the physician,” the butler said. “We didn’t know if we should move her.”

  “No. I don’t know.” Oliver stared down at her, unable to think, barely able to breathe. “Good God. What happened?”

  “Needham,” Philip said flatly. “He said he wanted to talk to her, and she made me leave them. I heard a commotion and then she screamed. I ran to get you. I should have…” His voice broke. “I should have stayed to save her.”

  “There is nothing you could have done against a monster like Needham,” Oliver said. But right then, as Ellen’s blood smeared his hand, he swore revenge on the bastard.

  Ellen moaned, and Oliver leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I’m here. You will be fine, and I will protect you from now on.”

  Her lips moved, but no words came out, and then she went still. Oliver’s gaze flew to her chest, willing it to rise and fall. It did, but shallowly.

  “Where’s the physician, damn it!”

  “On his way, my lord.”

  Oliver looked at her hand, at the misshapen fingers and the blood-caked fingernails. He couldn’t believe that this was his Ellen.

  The physician arrived, forcing Oliver to step to the side and watch as the man poked and prodded, testing for broken bones while Oliver felt as helpless as he’d ever felt before. A slow rage burned through him. He would get Needham for this. The man would regret ever laying a hand on her.

  But first he would see her well a
gain, and this time he wouldn’t allow her to push him away. He was here for good, and she would just have to accept it.

  With the help of the butler and two other footmen, they rolled Ellen onto a bedsheet provided by the housekeeper then carried her to her room on the makeshift gurney.

  They gently placed her on the bed and, even though they were as careful as they could be, she still moaned, and the sound cut through Oliver like a knife.

  They were asked to leave as the housekeeper and the physician tended to her. Oliver paced the length of the hallway, unable to stand still, while Philip slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.

  “I should have stayed,” he said.

  “Do you think you would have stopped him?” Oliver stood in front of Philip, looking down on his blond head. Just like his own had been at that age.

  There was no denying that he’d felt a connection to Philip the moment he’d first seen him. It wasn’t love, for he didn’t know the boy well enough, but it was something. A knowing, if you will. Ellen had never admitted it to him, but he was beginning to believe that they’d conceived Philip their night together in the gazebo.

  He had mixed emotions about Ellen keeping such important information from him, among them a dull anger of all that he had missed of Philip’s life. But anger had been such a prevalent emotion of late that he couldn’t hold on to it. Especially not when Ellen was fighting for her life. Mostly he was just tired. Tired of the anger, of the missed chances, and now of the fear of losing her again, this time to death.

  “I could have tried to stop him,” Philip said. “Instead I ran away.”

  Oliver lowered himself to sit next to Philip, and he put his head back against the wall. “You didn’t run away. You ran for help. No one can fault you for that.”

  “But he nearly killed her.” Philip lifted his head, and Oliver saw that the boy had been trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying. His face was red and wet with the many tears that had run down his cheeks. “What if she doesn’t survive?” he whispered.

  “Don’t talk like that.” Oliver sounded much sharper than he’d intended, but the words produced a fear that nearly paralyzed him. She would not die. He would not live without Ellen in his life. Not any longer.