by Ingrid Hahn
“I mean, what’s happening between us?” Because she couldn’t bear it if it came to naught.
She wanted to ask him if he’d forgiven her for her deception. The words stuck on her tongue like they’d been glued with bitter treacle. She wasn’t prepared to hear his answer. Not when it very well might be no. She didn’t need her heart involved in this debacle between her and the earl.
Except that was exactly what had happened, hadn’t it? Along this treacherous road they were traveling together, her heart had softened. Was it when he’d given her Daisy? Or perhaps when she’d told him how she’d been ruined and he’d gone mad with rage against Sir Domnall. Perhaps when he’d unwittingly exposed his love for his mother. Or maybe it had been the look on his face when she’d told him she’d repaired his violin.
She could never have guessed he’d be such an easy man for whom to have strong feelings. He was hard and determined to the point of ruthlessness, willing to marry to pay a debt, all else be damned. His instinct to protect her from harm worked against him.
But these were small flaws in the face of everything else. They made him all the more precious. He was no saint…and all the more deserving of love for the plain fact that he needed love.
He traced a line down the side of her face. “Where are you, my lady? You’re here with me, but you’re a hundred miles away.”
She pulled herself close to him, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes to enjoy the scent of wool and starch and clean male. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Around them, the leaves on the trees rustled in a slight breeze. It was as if nothing could ever go wrong again.
Chapter Thirty
The next afternoon, in the drawing room in the Haight Square house, Eliza’s stomach dropped when Templeton came to announce that Sir Domnall and Lady Tutsby had come to collect Fredericka.
She rose, shaking. Hetty and Grace had taken the girl to pay a call on Grace’s sister Isabel, so Eliza must face the two of them alone.
Slipping from the room, she almost collided with Lord Bennington. His face was grave. “I just heard. I’m coming with you.”
She held up a hand. “I will handle this by myself, if you please.”
“You can’t see them alone.”
Silently as a ghost, Templeton made a strategic exit.
“I can see them alone, my lord, and I will. I don’t need your help.”
“Don’t need my help, or don’t want my help?”
Eliza raised her chin at him. “Both. So it works out nicely, doesn’t it?”
She swept from the room.
Lady Tutsby stood a little before Sir Domnall. With the merest glance at the man who’d caused her so much shame and anguish, Eliza’s skin crawled. Once upon a time, she’d let that man touch her. And so much more. How could she have been so stupid?
She prayed she hid her disgust as she bade them welcome. “Won’t you stay long enough for me to offer you both some refreshment?”
The feathers on Lady Tutsby’s bonnet fluttered as she shook her head. “Thank you, my lady, but I’ve come to collect Fredericka. I have other matters to attend to this afternoon.”
“Of course, my lady.” Eliza tried to show deference where she felt none. Fredericka was safe—for now. “We thought you were coming tomorrow, however, and I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“I’ll just stay to collect her things and see her home, then. I don’t mind waiting.”
Smiling as sweetly as could be, Eliza cut a look directly to Sir Domnall. She wagered that, in his quest to fool Lady Tutsby into believing he wanted to marry her, the man had made one significant omission. “And how is your wife, Sir Domnall? I do hope Lady Gow is well.”
Beside him, Lady Tutsby blanched. Her lips formed a thin line as she turned to the man. “Your…wife?”
Good. She hadn’t known.
To his credit, the knight didn’t try to deny the existence of his spouse.
He shot Eliza a look of unadulterated hatred. She held her head high. She regretted nothing. The man was repugnant.
She’d bested him. She’d kept Fredericka away from his grasp. That was the most important thing.
Lady Tutsby covered her mouth, eyes wide with the hurt of betrayal, and she ran from the house. The door slammed behind her.
The potent sensation of sweet triumph made Eliza drunk with happiness. She could have whirled, just like Christiana had that day Tom had come to Idlewood to claim her for his bride.
But the mood was short-lived. Eliza and Sir Domnall were alone. The last time they were alone, he’d…
He stepped close, forcing her to step backward until she ran up against a wall. Wincing and trying to breathe from her mouth so she wouldn’t smell him, she turned her head, not wanting to see the lines and pores of his skin. Not wanting him so close. Not wanting such stark evidence of just how powerless she remained.
Her mouth was dry, and her heart pounded.
His voice was hard, his face pinched in disapproval. “Quite the family you married into, the Landons. Guess it’s true what they say about the Landon blood.”
Eliza’s fingers flexed. The man deserved to have his eyes clawed out. Eliza had been so angry that summer. Surely part of her blindness to the man’s nature had been willful. She had half a mind to spit in the man’s face. “I’d take the worst of them on their darkest day over you on your best.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ve done a very foolish thing with Lady Tutsby, my girl. I have no compunction against exposing your shame. Wait until all of London is tittering about what you did. You’ll never live it down.”
Eliza pushed him away with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. She couldn’t let him see how he frightened her or how she feared exposure. “Leave me alone.”
Alone being the important word. Far better to keep the world ignorant. It was preferable to the isolation and ostracizing she’d experience if it became known what she’d done all those years ago. The repercussions of such a scandal would ruin the rest of her life. The news might actually kill her mother. And she’d lose Jeremy. He might think he wanted vengeance on her behalf now. If she mired him and his family in public humiliation, however…
Sir Domnall stumbled backward. His eyes narrowed, and he straightened his hat and tugged his jacket. “This isn’t over, pet. You’ll be sorry for this. Very sorry, indeed.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jeremy had only caught a glimpse of what transpired in the entrance hall, but what he’d seen would eat at his soul for an eternity.
Before he could do anything, the bastard stormed out the door and Eliza ran up the stairs in tears.
Jeremy was helpless against the force of his rage. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Everything else he’d ever been angry about in the past had crumbled to insignificance in the face of seeing Eliza threatened.
A moment ago he’d been himself. What he’d seen had changed him, maybe forever. Shaking with the intensity of his thirst for blood, he stalked down the corridor and tumbled down the steps into the street. The world around him was an incoherent mixture of incomprehensible sounds and blurry images. Everything seemed too fast and too bright. Afternoon sunlight glared from all surfaces, everything still wet from a passing shower.
His sight homed in on the back of that monster of a man who’d hurt his wife. She’d claimed she’d been a willing participant, but no doubt the baseborn worm had used his wiles to get from her exactly what he’d wanted.
And then he’d heard that vile son of a dog tell her, I have no compunction against exposing your shame. Wait until all of London is tittering about what you did. You’ll never live it down.
Jeremy saw visions of his family burning in infamy all over again. Not only Eliza, but his cousins, who were only just regaining tenuous footing in Society. After all they’d suffered, they couldn’t endure more. Not if he could help it.
Before he knew what he was doing, Jeremy grabbed the revolting ma
n by the shoulder and spun him around.
In the back of his mind, Jeremy was dimly aware of gasps from nearby onlookers. A coach on the road slowed, and two round faces appeared in the window, pointing and whispering.
Let them look. This was what they wanted, wasn’t it? To see the next generation of Landons give them something to talk about well into the winter months? A perverse part of him wanted to give them exactly what they wanted, consequences be damned.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sir Domnall glared, brushing at his shoulder where Jeremy had grabbed him.
But there was no time for words. Jeremy’s fist cracked against the man’s jaw.
Sir Domnall sprawled backward, tumbling onto the ground. He touched his face tenderly, grimacing as if it ached. “What have you done, you stupid man?”
“Hyde Park.” Jeremy spoke from between clenched teeth. “Tomorrow at dawn. Choose your second.”
He turned on his heel, leaving the other man in the street as he returned to his wife. This wouldn’t be over until that bastard was dead.
…
After her interaction with Sir Domnall, Eliza’s nerves were a jumble. It was difficult to be certain, but her husband also seemed preoccupied.
After dinner, she approached him gently. He sat in a big chair by an empty fireplace with his nose buried in his newspapers. They were alone, Hetty having sent a note that the three of them were going to dine with Lord Bennington’s mother and Isabel. “Something seems to be weighing on your mind.”
He glanced at her over his reading material, returning a tight smile. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”
She took the seat next to him. “You’re not protecting me from anything again, are you?”
He took a beat too long to respond. “No.”
Eliza’s heart sank. He was lying. She paced to the other side of the room. She stared at the pictures on the wall a moment, not really seeing beyond the superficial in the landscapes captured so carefully in oils.
She turned and drew a breath. “Sometimes it seems like we’re becoming closer. Other times, it feels as if we’re still as much strangers as we were the day we married.”
He folded the newspapers, tossed them aside, and stood. Every time he went from seated to standing, she was reminded of how large the man was. It seemed as though the surprise should have worn off by now. “I want to do something for you.”
“My lord…” Her words evaporated to nothing when he left the room. When he returned a minute later, he carried his violin case.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll produce anything worth hearing.”
Her heart fluttered as he began to rosin the bow. He tuned and positioned the instrument under his chin. She licked her lips.
He pulled the bow, and the music began. Eliza recognized Telemann, though she couldn’t have named the piece. It was wistful, but also graceful. Jeremy played extremely well, although not perfectly. With a touch of practice, he would be quite good. When the piece finished, he paused momentarily before moving to a Bach violin solo.
If he’d really not touched the violin for so many years, it was amazing that he could still recall the notes. Maybe they were gone from his mind but lived in his fingers, as it sometimes was with her and a poem she’d had to memorize in the schoolroom. She couldn’t remember the words when she tried to speak them, but once she sat with a pen, it all came out. Hours upon hours of having to write out passages again and again had stayed with her.
Then he put the instrument down, shaking out his left hand and flexing his fingers as if the exercise had made them stiff.
“Can’t you play a bit more? I do so love music.”
“My fingertips can’t take any more just now, I’m afraid.” He snapped the latches on the case and then looked to her, deadly serious intensity shining from the fiery aquamarine depths of his eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Eliza shook her head, not understanding. His playing hadn’t been merely playing, but what it had meant, she couldn’t see. “I want to.”
“But you don’t?”
“Not really.”
The earl looked away. “I’m going out for a bit.”
“What?” She frowned. “At this hour?”
“I need to think.”
“Which you can’t do here?”
“It’s too confining. I need to move.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t wait up—I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Eliza only sputtered. She was speechless. He was actually leaving?
Sure enough, he disappeared through the door. It took a moment for her brain to catch up with what had happened. She was alone—and in more ways than one. Alone. He’d left her alone. First he’d shut her out and then he’d abandoned her.
It would have been easy to crumble to the floor. Part of her wanted to. If she did, though, she might never be able to stand again—figuratively speaking. The part of her that wanted to be strong spurred her forward. She ran after Jeremy, dashing through the corridor.
But she was too late. The front door shut behind him. Templeton, who’d seen his lordship out, turned to catch sight of Eliza, his brows rising a little. “My lady? Is there something you require?”
Inwardly, Eliza squirmed. In her mother’s home, the servants had been her collaborators. They’d been proud of their service to her father. After his passing, they’d stayed for her as much as to honor his memory. Here everything was different. She had to remember that while they were loyal, she was still new here, and there were certain ingrained hierarchies that were to be both observed and respected. “Please send Margaret up.”
It was well past midnight when there came the sound of the doors to Eliza’s bedchamber quietly opening. Daisy leaped up from her spot by Eliza’s hip and started yipping at the newcomer, who stepped across the floor in hasty yet careful steps. He must have removed his boots. His footfalls were soft.
He was home. Her heart lifted in cautious hope.
“Shh, you silly dog. It’s just me,” Jeremy whispered. “Don’t wake your mistress.”
Eliza pushed herself up on her elbows and stared into the blackness. A sliver of light came through the crack in the door. She could see just enough of him. “I wasn’t asleep.”
He began peeling away his jacket. It fell to the floor. An item at a time, the rest of his clothing followed. Then he slipped under the covers and reached for her.
As he took her close, she shivered with warm anticipation and inhaled. She’d expected him to smell of alcohol or smoke. He smelled of neither. The scent of the clean outdoors clung to his skin, as if he’d been caught in a spot of rain.
Instead of initiating another round of heir making, he curled close to her and held her tight. They lay together in the dark, neither of them speaking. How long, she couldn’t have said. She’d thought he’d gone to sleep when he moved and pressed a hard ridge against her hip.
“Do you want to, my lady?” He kissed her neck.
She nodded.
He pushed the covers down and took her night rail up, pulling it over her head and casting it aside. His hand skimmed the surface of her bare skin. She shivered with warm longing and erupted into gooseflesh. When his fingers dipped between her legs, she let out a shaking moan of longing. “I never knew it could be like this.”
“I know.” He continued touching her, stroking gently and building sensation slowly. “Are you ready?”
All she could do was nod again.
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
The earl positioned himself above her on his elbows, opening her legs and putting himself between them. Pressing the tip of his erection against her entrance, he began entering her.
Her breath caught, and she arched her back.
He froze. “Am I hurting you?”
Eliza shook her head. “You’re large, is all. But it feels good…the way you…”
“Say it.” His voice was raw. Needy. And when she braced her hands against the ste
el strength of his arms, she found him trembling. He was so tense. As if it took all his willpower to hold himself back.
She had so much power over him. The realization came with a heady rush of arousal, and she almost unexpectedly hit her climax then and there.
“The way you…” Heat burned her face. In the dark, he could not see the violence of her blush. It made her daring. “…fill me.”
He slid the rest of the way in and hissed as if in pain.
“Oh…” Her fingers dug into his back. “My lord, I—”
“I think…” He was deep in her body. “I think it’s time you called me Jeremy.”
“Oh, my lord, I don’t—”
“Say it, Eliza. I need to hear it. I need to hear you say my name.”
“Jeremy.”
Inside her, his cock flexed. He began to move. “Yes. Again.”
“Jeremy.”
“Oh, yes. My sweetest Eliza, you have no idea what you do to me.” He reached between them and worked his fingers in circles on the site of her greatest pleasure as he continued to thrust into her.
They moved together. She was at once herself and part of something greater—something she could only have with him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Last night when Jeremy made love to Eliza, he’d been so warm. She’d been soft, and her body had welcomed his so sweetly. But he hadn’t told her that he had been saying good-bye to her.
When he’d imagined himself here about to face Sir Domnall, he’d thought he’d feel strong and righteous. Instead, he was nothing but cold and alone.
The morning was soggy. It had rained during the night, leaving droplets clinging to the grass and leaves. Mist covered the earth, muffling sound.
Jeremy sat on the carriage step, staring at his hands. Once he’d made music with them. Pressed the tip of each finger into a string while pulling a bow across the other end.
Now he was going to kill a man. Or do his damnedest to try.
And then what? Flee England? Leave Eliza forever?
He’d worked so hard to master his control. And had failed at the most critical moment. So many years rebuilding the Landon name after his notorious uncle’s scandalous downfall, and this was where he’d ended up. Fighting a duel.