by Sara Bennett
A blessed wave of anger washed over her.
“A lucky escape? I had no intention of becoming your mistress. I told you so from the beginning but you did not want to hear. You are so used to getting your own way you thought you could force me to your will. But I do not want to be kept like a nasty little secret. I want to share the life of the man I choose, Sinclair. I want to walk at his side and sit at his breakfast table. In short, I want to marry him.”
His lip curled in that way she loathed. “I pity the man you finally trap.”
Eugenie swallowed back more hasty words. This was not the time nor the place, and perhaps there never would be a right moment. But she could apologize, and then at least she may be able to put it behind her.
“The letter was very wrong and I’m sorry for it. Most of it I made up.”
“Most of it?” he growled. “It was a pack of lies from start to finish.”
Her wretched bluntness made her say, “Apart from your mother being so rude to me, that was true. And the way you sneer at those you consider beneath you—unless they can be of use to you, like Jack. And the way you curl your lip when you feel superior. Yes, just like that!” she burst out, as he obliged her.
For a moment he said nothing, his face white, his jaw bunching.
“So it is all right for you to insult me, but I am not allowed to insult you?” he said in a deadly tone. “Miss Eugenie Belmont can splatter her poison about without a thought for the damage she may do. And it is all my fault for curling my lip?”
“That isn’t what I meant at all!” she cried.
“Good-bye, Miss Belmont. Tell your father I have decided against his mare. She is far too tricky for my liking.”
She might have said more but her voice failed her. With a sob, she turned and kicked the mare into a gallop, her curls flying behind her, her skirts tucked up about her bare legs.
Anger was Sinclair’s companion on the way home to Somerton. He had business to attend to, important affairs he’d left to come here and see Eugenie. Luckily his mother had already set out to her friends in the west, but Annabelle wanted him to look at some filly she had her eye on, and he’d promised.
He needed to get himself under control before then.
Although his anger was justifiable, he told himself, it was aimed at himself just as much as Eugenie. Somehow he’d allowed himself to be drawn into her net, to the extent of believing she would be his. He’d even made plans as to where he would install her in London, he realized, with a savage bark of laughter.
How deluded he had been!
He lifted his head and looked up at the sky. Eugenie Belmont was nothing more than a devious, conniving slut who wanted to be a duchess and believed she could inveigle him into setting aside his principles for another taste of her body. Well, he would never marry her. There were plenty of other far more compliant girls out there who would be forever grateful for the chance to be his mistress. He could have any of them.
All of them!
Eugenie rode through the village, almost knocking over the postman’s wife. The woman shook a fist after her, but Eugenie didn’t stop. Everyone thought her a hoyden, even Sinclair. Suddenly their opinions of her seemed justified. She thoroughly deserved their approbation.
For several miles she rode on without easing her pace, and it was only when the tears had dried on her cheeks and her sobs quieted, that she finally stopped. She’d cried herself out but her heart was leaden in her breast.
Eugenie knew she’d learned a lesson she’d never forget. This silly scrape had changed her, made her more aware of her actions and how they might affect herself and others.
She’d been foolish and selfish and she told herself that from now on she would be neither.
Chapter 19
Once again Belmont Hall was in an uproar.
“Send for the doctor!” Mrs. Belmont wailed. “The twins are worse. I told your father it wasn’t a simple fever. The twins can never do anything simple!”
Eugenie put her palm on Benny’s and then on Bertie’s brow. They looked at her with listless eyes and flushed cheeks, lacking their usual mischievous grins.
The doctor, when he arrived, ordered the boys to bed until their fevers had broken, and wrote out a script for the apothecary in Torrisham. “Until we know what it is, I think we should keep the twins away from Jack and any other young children, Mrs. Belmont. Just a precaution. There has been a case of scarlet fever in the village.”
“Scarlet fever! Oh doctor, I don’t think I could bear to lose my dear, dear boys.”
By this time Eugenie’s mother had worked herself into a state of hysterics, which the doctor—with familiar impatience for her ways—treated with firm language and a sedative. Mr. Belmont escaped to his study and closed the door, and Terry vanished to the stables with Jack. That left Eugenie and two wide-eyed servants, one of them the new cook, who was yet to serve any meal that wasn’t slightly singed.
“Do you think you will be able to cope with nursing these two young rascals?” the doctor asked, with a sympathetic smile.
“I usually do. Cope, I mean,” Eugenie said wryly.
The doctor, who had known her since she was born, rested his gaze on her pale face for a thoughtful moment. “You do not look well yourself, my dear.”
“A lingering headache, that’s all,” she reassured him.
“You should take care of your own health, Eugenie. Your family depends upon you a great deal. Too much, perhaps.”
When the doctor had gone, reminding her to send a message to him if anything further developed, Eugenie set about her tasks. She didn’t really mind. Besides, keeping busy took her mind off her own troubles, and she was certainly busy with two sick little boys. They, and the running of the household and the instructing of the new cook, took up most of her days. Several times she was also called up in the night to give out doses of the doctor’s medicine and comfort the children back to sleep. Finally the twins’ fevers broke, and when no rashes or other symptoms developed, the doctor declared them on the mend.
This didn’t mean Eugenie could escape her duties. The twins were still inside, kept warm and as quiet as possible, and she spent lots of time playing games and putting together jigsaws and making up silly stories that had them in fits of giggles.
“You have done a remarkable job, Eugenie,” the doctor complimented her, when he visited for a final time. “The boys are fully recovered and it is all down to your care and competence.”
Eugenie couldn’t help but wish Sinclair were here to hear the compliment. Perhaps he would think better of her then. Although, she reminded herself, she was not supposed to care what he thought of her.
It seemed incredible that a fortnight had passed since her night of passion and the horrors of the following morning. Most of the time she managed to put those memories out of her head, but occasionally a word or a scene would pop into her head before she could stop it. She could only hope that soon she would be so recovered that she would cease to think of him altogether.
One afternoon Terry found her in the garden and informed her that he’d sold the filly he and Jack had been training. “Don’t tell Father,” he warned her. “I’m using the blunt for a surprise for someone.”
“A surprise for whom?” Eugenie said, putting down the book she’d been reading.
He dug his hands into his pockets and looked away. “I can’t say. But don’t worry,” he added quickly. “It’s for something good, Genie.”
Normally she would have teased him into telling her the whole story but she didn’t feel like making the effort.
“Do you think any deed is acceptable, even a bad one, if it is done for a good reason?” Terry asked her, his face serious, as if she held all the answers to such tricky questions.
“I suppose,” she said doubtfully. “Sometimes. But if you do something bad, even if it’s for a g
ood reason, then it usually comes home to roost.”
She was thinking of her own situation. She’d begun to make a list of suitable husbands, but so far it was rather sparse. She didn’t know many and those she did know did not compare to Sinclair.
When Eugenie glanced up at last, she saw that Terry had left her and she was all alone again in the garden. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t asked him what deed he was speaking of.
I’ll ask him later, she told herself.
But she never did.
Sinclair had planned to break his latest canvas in two. He’d begun the painting the night after he made love to Eugenie—and before he read the letter—representing her as she had looked when she lay on the divan, her hair wild about her, her green eyes full of passion and trust, as if all that was good in her shone out. But after one glance into her eyes, at her smiling lips, the strength to destroy her image deserted him.
Angrily he strode from the attic room and locked the door, telling himself he would never paint again. And that was her fault, too. Everything was her fault.
But the next evening he was back up there again. A prisoner to his own desires. Without a word he began work on the portrait, losing himself in the world of color and texture, and it wasn’t until the dawn light made him blink that he realized he’d been there all night. It was a madness that would have to stop, but he didn’t know how else to drive her from his mind. He told himself that the painting was a form of exorcism, and he was certain that when it was finished he would have rid himself of her once and for all.
And then there was Annabelle and the filly.
He blamed his lack of sleep—and ultimately Eugenie—for that as well. His sister had been pestering him for days to look at the animal and finally he gave in. He hadn’t realized it was owned by the elder Belmont boy until he reached the stables and found them waiting, Jack and Terry, the filly between them, and Annabelle in raptures over the creature.
Sinclair wouldn’t put it past that particular family to trick his sister into buying a horse that was lame, but after looking thoroughly over the filly he found no fault with her. The price was exorbitant, but with Annabelle looking at him with tears in her eyes, as if she sensed his current weakness. . .
“Please, Sinclair? I want something of my own to love. Perhaps I might even race her one day.”
“You don’t like horses, Annabelle.”
“I do, I do. Please, Sinclair.”
Well, in his present gloomy state of mind he found it impossible to deny her. So he paid Terry Belmont the money and his sister thanked him in a shaky little voice.
But there was something about the whole incident that made him suspicious and later that night, sitting up over a decanter of brandy, he stared into the firelight and replayed it over to himself. What was the catch? The scene almost felt as if it had been cleverly contrived. And yet he couldn’t find a reason, other than the typical Belmont scheme designed to do him out of more of his blunt.
He shrugged.
What did it matter? He had plenty, and at least Annabelle was happy for the moment. Their mother had written, reminding her daughter to have her trunks and boxes packed, ready for when she came to collect her and take her to London. Then would begin the whirlwind of final arrangements for the wedding and Annabelle’s new life as a married woman in the society she had been brought up to inhabit.
With surprise Sinclair realized that when she was gone he’d be alone here at Somerton. Despite the difficulties he’d had with his sister he knew he’d miss her. It was such a large house and he was but one man.
Perhaps his mother was right. Perhaps it was time for him to marry. He should begin to look about, find someone suitable. Someone obedient and willing to set aside her own wishes and feelings to be the Duchess of Somerton. Certainly no one with curly hair with a hint of red to it, or green eyes, or a blunt way of saying exactly what she thought. No, a person like that would never do.
Sinclair sipped his brandy and sighed.
Chapter 20
Eugenie found herself slipping back into her life as it used to be. At night she might dream of Sinclair’s kisses, with his body warm on hers, but she refused to remember him during the day. Once she woke with a start, thinking she heard the scatter of gravel against her window pane, but when she rose to look outside there was no one there.
The household and the twins took up most of her time, and her mother seemed grateful to leave most matters to her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she took to saying. One morning Mrs. Belmont informed her with a beaming smile that as a special treat she had accepted an invitation to a supper party on her behalf.
Eugenie didn’t want to go. She found she no longer trusted herself in social situations.
“I really think I should stay home with the twins, Mother. You and Father go to Major Banks’s supper party. No one will miss me.”
“The twins are perfectly well, and the major asked for you particularly, Eugenie. You know how he admires you. If you are not there we will never hear the end of it.”
Eugenie was well aware that the major had a tender for her, but the fact that her admirer was fat and forty and happily married meant it was most unlikely anything romantic would come of it, even had she wanted it to.
“Your father is hoping to sell him a horse,” her mother added the clincher.
“And he wants me to butter him up first?” Eugenie said wryly.
“Well, a few words from you might help.” Her mother fixed her with a sharp look. “Are you well, Eugenie? You have been so unlike yourself lately I am beginning to wonder if you are lovelorn.”
“And who would I be lovelorn with, Mother?”
“Well, there has been talk in the village about one of the Duke of Somerton’s grooms. Of course I dismissed it immediately. I would hope you could do a lot better than a groom.”
She eyed her daughter, awaiting confirmation that the whole thing was nonsense. Eugenie did her best to supply it. “There is no one I am lovelorn about, Mother. Maybe I’m out of practice when it comes to supper parties.”
“All the more reason to go.”
Satisfied she’d made her point, Mrs. Belmont went to peruse her limited wardrobe in search of something to wear to Major Banks’s supper party. Eugenie, with a growing sense of trepidation, did the same.
In the end she chose her pink taffeta, which was old-fashioned and rather too short and had faded over the years to a dusty color. But then it was only the major, she reassured herself, and he wouldn’t notice.
It wasn’t until they arrived that she found there were a lot more guests than she’d expected from her mother’s blithe description. The major had outdone himself this time, and there were a large number of well-to-do families as well as businessmen and merchants from Torrisham. Eugenie, regretting now she hadn’t made more of an effort with her appearance, accepted the major’s effusive greeting.
To her surprise she found herself enjoying the company. Her experience with Sinclair had dinted her confidence but she soon regained it, chatting with the guests. As long as she kept a tight rein on her unruly tongue she could manage very well, and she’d learned her lesson there. Never again, Eugenie vowed to herself, would she do something so reckless.
After a time she wandered into Major Banks’s library. She knew the major was an enthusiastic collector of travel memoirs, and that she’d find plenty of fascinating tales about jungles and deserts and snowy mountains to peruse. Eugenie had opened the door and was heading toward the tall bookshelves before she heard footsteps behind her and realized that someone else had followed her in.
Turning with a smile she began to make some comment to the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in evening dress silhouetted against the brighter lights outside the door. And then he came farther into the room and with a paralyzing shock she recognized him.
/> “What are you doing here?” she burst out rudely.
“Miss Belmont,” he said in a cold, clipped voice. “As charming as ever.”
“I . . . Your Grace,” she said hastily, and dipped a curtsey, although her knees felt weak. “I’m sorry. I did not expect you here this evening. No one said.” She didn’t need to add the unspoken, I would not have come if I had known.
Typically Sinclair took her words as a slight upon his character.
“It is part of my responsibility as the largest landholder in the county to be on good terms with my neighbors,” he said haughtily. “I hope I’m not too proud to sit down with farmers and shopkeepers.”
“I did not mean—”
“Your opinion of me has never been high, has it, Miss Belmont?”
“You’re wrong. It is your opinion of me that is low. It would not matter if I had the patronage of the queen herself, you would still curl your lip at me.”
He frowned. Perhaps she had been too blunt?
“But I am interrupting,” she said, edging around him toward the door. “I will leave you to your reading.”
He looked around him, as if surprised to see he was in a library. “I was late arriving. Just as I was apologizing to the major I looked across the room and saw you creeping in here.”
“I wasn’t ‘creeping,’ ” she retorted, blushing. “I enjoy reading.”
“Melodramas, no doubt.”
Eugenie ignored his snide remark. “Why did you follow me? I would have thought I was the last person you wished to see here tonight.”
He gave her his arrogant stare. “I am not so mean-spirited as you think, Miss Belmont. Jack mentioned that the twins had been unwell and I merely wished to ask you if they were recovered.”
Her eyebrows rose at the unlikeliness of his concern. “They are fully recovered, thank you, Your Grace.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
It was a very odd conversation. So polite and yet Eugenie could not help but recall the last time they spoke together, and the anger and bitterness in his voice. Perhaps it was a good thing that they were meeting here like this among others. Eugenie could put the past behind her and move on. But despite her determination to forget, her memories were still unpleasantly fresh. Should she apologize again? Would that give her the peace of mind she craved?