His expression was grim. “No. That’s not what tonight was about. What happened here had nothing to do with anyone but us. Only us.” At her dubious look, he shook his head and stepped forward. “How else can I convince you?”
She jumped back, knowing if he touched her, she’d be lost. “Convince me? You ask me to become your mistress, then admit that you will continue to hunt my father and send him to the gallows? How can you be so selfish?”
“Don’t tell me that you have feelings for the man who abandoned you and your sisters to struggle to survive?” he said, a cold edge to his voice.
She listened with rising dismay. “Despite everything, he is still my father. You must also know there is a chance he may identify us as his daughters if he is arrested. And I must think of Amelia and Chloe. Amelia fears becoming like him and if he’s captured and tried, it will cause her horrible inner turmoil. Chloe misses him terribly and only has fond memories of him. It’s not as simple as you believe, and I can no longer be certain of your intentions. But the truth is that it no longer matters.” Despite her resolve she glanced at the settee where they’d lain in each other’s arms moments ago. “What happened tonight was a one time affair.”
She clutched her reticule tight to her side and made to step by him.
He moved so abruptly to block her path that she squealed in surprise. Gripping her upper arms, his fingers caressed her skin. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “This isn’t over between us.”
Her spine stiffened at his words and she tried to ignore the soft, rhythmic stroke of his fingers. Her heart seemed to rush to where he touched her, and a hot ache grew in her throat. “You had what you wanted. I trust you to deliver Amelia’s painting. As for your ‘gift,’” she said, motioning to the engraving on the wall, “you can keep it. Good evening, my lord.” She attempted to pull away and sweep past him a second time.
His fingers stopped caressing her skin, but he did not release his grip on her arms. He refused to move. “Eliza—”
“Please let go.”
He ignored her. “I’m not satisfied. I want you again.”
Her heart tripped clumsily behind her lungs at the primitive need in his deep voice. Her fingers ached to reach out and touch him. “There can be no second time.”
“I loved touching you. Making you come apart in my arms. You enjoyed it, too, Eliza,” he said huskily.
Her face grew warm at his erotic words and her traitorous body responded. She must not allow him speak to her that way, not after he vowed to continue on his path for vengeance.
She twisted out of his grasp and lifted her chin. “Stop. It’s over.”
Grayson’s eyes gleamed in a way that alarmed her. “I won’t allow it.”
“Arrogance does not suit you, my lord,” she said.
“It’s not arrogance when you were screaming out your pleasure, begging for more not long ago.”
Her hand cracked across his face. He froze, his eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat she feared she had pushed him too far, but then he wordlessly stepped aside.
She halted by the door. “There’s no need for you to personally deliver my sister’s painting. A messenger will suffice. It’s best if we don’t see each other again,” she said, then closed the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning, Eliza rose early and went downstairs to open the shop. She made a pretense of studying the ledgers, but her mind was far away in deep thought.
She was a fool. She’d trusted Grayson when he said Father’s sins were not hers. He’d called her hard working.
Admirable.
Pain squeezed her heart. Grayson may desire her, but he wanted vengeance more.
She’d offered herself to him completely and freely…with all the pent up passion and desire she’d felt for him. Her mind burned with the memory of what he did to her body, how he made her feel. Allowing him to make love to her had taught her more about pleasure between a man and woman than she’d ever dared imagine. For as long as she’d live, she’d never forget the tantalizing caresses or the blazing passion.
She knew he could never offer marriage, but she’d foolishly thought that if they could share one rapturous night, then it would be enough to last her a lifetime. The opposite had occurred. She longed for him more fiercely than before.
There was no denying the truth. She’d fallen in love with him.
Leave it to her to want the unattainable.
She truly was a fool.
Eliza was vaguely aware of Chloe flitting about the shop, straightening a row of prints as she assisted a customer. Meanwhile, Eliza hunched on a stool behind the counter with a quill in hand scribbling in the ledger. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t concentrate, and the tiny numbers blurred before her strained eyes.
The shop’s bell chimed and a man entered carrying a large package wrapped in brown paper.
“A delivery for Mrs. Eliza Somerton,” the deliveryman announced.
Chloe glanced at Eliza over her shoulder. “What is it?”
Eliza’s heart pounded. She knew, of course.
Eliza untied the string and peeled the paper aside to reveal Amelia’s forgery of the Jan Wildens painting.
“Huntingdon returned it!” Chloe cried out. “I told you he was a man of his word. You must thank him for us.”
Eliza wrung her hands and turned away.
Chloe frowned. “What’s wrong, Liza?”
Eliza glanced at her sister. “Nothing. I’m pleased it’s finally back in our possession.”
Chloe was still staring at her. She tilted her head to one side and regarded Eliza thoughtfully. “You fancy him, don’t you?”
Fancy was too frivolous a word. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with him.
“It matters naught, Chloe. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, he fulfilled his. We will both move on.”
“But why does it have to end? You could marry.”
Sweet Chloe. Her fascination with males was something that had always concerned Eliza. She still believed Father had no other choice than to run and that he would return as soon as he was able.
“He’s an earl, Chloe. And I am just a shopkeeper.”
“Rubbish. True love will always find a way.”
“Members of the ton marry for wealth or title, and preferably both. I have neither.”
“He’s a powerful man, Liza. He doesn’t need money and he already has a title. He can do as he wishes.”
Innocent Chloe. There was no sense arguing with her.
“Where’s Amelia?” Eliza asked. “She’ll want to know that her painting has been returned.”
“She’s gone to the market and will be back shortly.”
Eliza covered the forgery and stowed it behind the counter. She wanted to burn it. She knew it was childish, but the painting had caused her so much trouble.
Not entirely true. She never would have met Grayson if not for the forgery. Her thoughts twisted and turned. But if he’d never entered her life, she would not be feeling this much pain.
She ran her fingers down the gilt frame. She’d wait until Amelia was present to decide the fate of her work. It only seemed right.
“Tell me when Amelia returns,” Eliza said.
“Why? Where are you going?” Chloe said.
“Out.”
She needed to leave to clear her head. The shop’s walls seemed to close in on her making it difficult to breathe. She was useless with the ledgers. She couldn’t stay and pine after the loss of Grayson from her life.
She reached for her cloak and stepped outside.
The air was cold and damp as she made her way across the street toward the park. Her breath left puffs in the frigid air. Eliza inhaled the cold, felt it in her lungs. Last night’s confrontation with Grayson flitted through her mind.
She refused to be his mistress. His position in society required he marry and produce an heir to the earldom. And his driving need for revenge toward her father woul
d always be utmost in his mind. It would always come between them.
They could never be together. Their stations in life were as clearly drawn as lines in the sand.
Then why was it so painful? She’d had what she’d wanted, hadn’t she? An incredible night with the Earl of Huntingdon. Memories to last her for many lonely nights. She’d known better than to expect more.
She reached the park. It was isolated as she knew it would be this time of year. The oak trees that would shade the walk in the summer months were barren and sleeping. She sat on a bench and pulled her cloak tight around her. A squirrel darted across the path in front of her bench.
A sound drew her attention. Almost like the scrape of booted feet on the stone path. She turned and saw nothing but a hedge of shrubs.
The wind? An animal?
Still, she had a weird sensation that she was being watched.
Her pulse quickened with unbidden excitement. Had Grayson followed her?
She scanned the park but saw nothing. She finally turned away. She must be bad off if she was imagining his presence.
She stood and quickly headed back to the shop.
…
The next day, Eliza was in the back workroom cataloging shelves of supplies as the shop’s bells chimed. She needn’t worry about seeing to any customers since Chloe was out front. But then she heard his voice.
“Good day, Miss Chloe.”
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Chloe said.
Eliza swept the curtain aside to see Grayson’s tall, cloaked figure. He spotted her clutching the fabric and their gazes sizzled across the room. He removed his beaver hat, and her heart immediately gave a little jump.
Eliza stepped forward, the curtain closing behind her.
“I wanted to see the painting safely delivered,” he said.
Chloe spoke first. “Thank you. Eliza will surely sleep better now.”
“Oh? Has she had difficulty?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Eliza’s face.
“Heavens, yes!” Chloe said.
“Chloe!” Eliza admonished.
Chloe’s lips curled in a mischievous smile. “If you will pardon me, Lord Huntingdon. I told Amelia I would help her with her errands,” she said as she fetched her cloak from a hook by the door and fled the shop.
Eliza stood still, a tumult of confused emotions racing through her. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to kiss him.
“Is it true that you’ve had a hard time sleeping?” he asked softly.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” He looked like he would take a step forward, then stopped. “The other night ended badly between us.”
“Badly? Is that how you would describe it?”
His expression was somber, his eyes never leaving her face. “I never meant to hurt you. I care for you, Eliza. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.”
She sucked in a breath. She wanted to believe him so badly. It was the closest he’d ever come to revealing his true feelings for her.
“It no longer matters. Our business together is at an end. I’m happy the Rembrandt is found and hope the duke keeps his promise and loans it to the museum.”
“And us?”
“There is no us. There never was,” she said sadly.
“Yes. There is. I see it in your eyes. Be my lover. You shall want for naught. A town house, a carriage, jewels. Whatever you desire shall be yours.”
Was that what he thought of her? That she could be brought and bribed?
Just like her father?
She swallowed the despair in her throat. She loved him and he saw her only as mistress material. Worse yet, he still wanted her father’s head.
He may care for her, but was it enough to change his ways? There was one last test.
“I don’t want monetary things. Instead, let your need for vengeance go so there is nothing else between us. Cease your search for my father. Forget the past,” she pled.
He was silent for so long she feared he wouldn’t answer. “I cannot.”
The words were crushing in their honesty. How unfair of fate to pair the man she loved with her dark and painful past. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done. And I shall never forget our night together.” Reaching up on tiptoe, she kissed him one last time. “Good-bye, my lord.”
She quickly stepped back, afraid he would pull her to him, and even more afraid of her response if he did.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grayson raised the crystal decanter and filled his glass to the brim. He was well on his way to becoming drunk. He sat in an armchair in his study and had left strict instructions for his servants not to disturb him. He’d spent the week sulking and drinking; even Brandon hadn’t been successful in luring him out for long.
Grayson reached for the glass, took a swallow of whiskey, and watched the fire in the grate.
A knock sounded on the door.
Damn. Who would dare?
“Leave me,” he growled, barely recognizing his own voice.
The door opened. He swung around, fully intending to deliver a tongue-lashing to the servant.
Sara stood there instead. “What’s wrong with you?”
Had she really asked him that? She was old enough to know when a man was drunk, wasn’t she?
He scowled at her. “It’s not a good time. Leave me be, Sara.”
She ignored his command, entered the room, and closed the door behind her.
Grayson nearly growled in disapproval. Apparently she didn’t recognize a drunken man. She came forward and stopped in front of him. Her dark eyes darted from the half full decanter to his glass before focusing on his face.
“What did you say to Mrs. Somerton?” she asked.
“You’re too young to ask me that.” He kept his attention on the fire. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d leave.
“I may be young, but I’ve more sense than you,” Sara said tersely.
His gaze snapped to his sister.
“Sara,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.
“Please don’t shut me out, Grayson. I won’t leave until you tell me what happened between you and Eliza.”
He waved his glass. “She won’t have me.”
“You proposed to her?”
He scowled. “Of course not.”
“Then what do you mean she won’t have you?”
He must be truly inebriated to have mentioned anything to his sister about his personal relationships. But he saw the moment that enlightenment dawned on Sara’s face.
“Oh, I see. You want her to be your paramour.”
Holy hell. He sat up. “Where did you even hear that word?”
“I’m not completely naive. I know what went on between you and Leticia when she visited late evenings.”
“Sara,” he growled. “We are not having this conversation.”
“Why not? It’s a perfectly good conversation.”
He set his crystal glass down with a loud chink. “You have been raised far too leniently. I’m hiring a strict governess for you first thing tomorrow.”
She didn’t appear at all frightened which confirmed he’d been too lax with her upbringing.
“No wonder Eliza refused you. You should propose to her. Get down on your knee and offer her our mama’s ring. She may not bear a title, but she is a lady.”
He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Reality is far from one of your childhood storybooks.”
“Why? Because she is a shopkeeper? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You’re happy when you’re with her. I saw the way you looked at her when we went to Gunter’s.”
Sara’s words hit a spot deep in his gut. Feeling restless and caged, he started pacing.
“I also know you are drinking yourself silly because you miss her,” Sara continued.
He did. He missed Eliza terribly. But he’d never admit it out loud to Sara.
He stopped pacing and glared a
t Sara. “Marriage is out of the question. What kind of example would I set for you?”
Two bright spots stained Sara’s cheeks and her lips thinned. “For me? Don’t you dare tell me you are doing this for me! You love her, you idiot.”
His jaw gaped. “What did you call me?” He stared at her in shock. His beautiful sister may be stubborn and willful, but she never, ever spoke to him that way.
Sara let out an exasperated sigh. “I think marrying Eliza would set a wonderful example.”
A sudden thought occurred to him. “Eliza spoke to me at Gunter’s about you. I didn’t fully understand what she meant then, but now I have a suspicion.”
A streak of unease crossed Sara’s face. “She spoke to you about—”
“The Duke of Trent’s son. You don’t fancy him, do you?” Grayson asked.
Sara’s shoulder’s eased a notch. “Eliza spoke to you about the duke’s son?”
“Yes. Answer me.”
“No. I don’t fancy him at all. He doesn’t listen to a word I say and he cares only for himself.”
Grayson shook his head. “Then he won’t do at all. Not for my sister. I apologize for not seeing it.”
Sara hesitated and worried her lip. “Eliza said I should confide in you. That I can trust you. That you want only my happiness.”
“She said that?”
“She did.”
His heart did a leap. Somewhere deep inside Eliza must trust him. He had only to convince her that he cared for her, truly cared.
“There’s someone I do fancy. He’s smart, hardworking, and”—Sara touched her heart—“he makes me feel special.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Samuel Neal.”
Grayson remembered the young man. The father and son had attended Lady Belmont’s ball last year and the son had struck him as an upstanding man. Grayson had thought the father was fortunate to have a solid heir for his business.
“He’s not titled,” Grayson pointed out.
“Neither is Eliza, but she makes you feel alive, doesn’t she?”
Yes, she did. A sudden thought clicked in his mind. It may have taken half a decanter of whiskey and a surprising talk from his sister, but he realized it just the same.
An Artful Seduction Page 20