This was the woman who had brought on the death of her husband by her lover’s hand? All of London had been abuzz with the news.
“Boy, you’ve grown tall and insolent,” Rufus snarled. “I didn’t pay good money all those years for you to learn bad manners.”
Vaughn dragged his attention back to his father. “I’m paying my respects to the future lady of this splendid home.” And he turned back to Elisa once more, to study her.
“You are most welcome, Vaughn. I am pleased to meet you at last,” she responded with a tiny smile. Her voice was a low contralto, soft and unexpected.
He nodded one more time, before stepping back.
He had intended to leave the room, to let his father have his intimate dinner. It would be wiser to retreat for a while and regroup his defenses now his father had shown no punches were to be pulled in the trial that lay ahead.
Instead, he lowered himself into the chair opposite his father’s fiancée. “Thank you, I will have a brandy,” he told Rufus, answering the question a good host would have asked.
Rufus’ upper lip curled and his eyes narrowed. He looked up at the manservant standing by the door of the dining room and jerked his head. Silently, the man glided to a buffet laid with decanters and crystal to pour the drink.
Vaughn glanced at Elisa again.
She delicately cut her meat into small pieces, lifted the fork and slid a piece into her mouth. A visible pulse beat at the base of the long column of her throat.
The servant placed the brandy in front of Vaughn. Rufus began to eat again, attacking his plate with furious gusto. With every loaded forkful of food he would take a big mouthful of claret. The red liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he chomped vigorously.
Vaughn looked away, his disgust growing. Surely the man would try a bit harder in front of his intended? How could she contemplate marrying this gruesome imp? Or perhaps the money was worth it to her….
He looked back to the silent beauty on the other side of the table. He still could not believe this was the same woman of whom he’d heard tell. The gossips had spared him no detail: a bride at seventeen, wed to an aging count. A mother at nineteen and a cuckolded wife the same year. Then, swiftly, she had set about giving her husband his own set of horns. The gossips had been firm in their approval of her husband’s reaction to her supposed whoring. He had taken the only honorable course of action an aggrieved husband could; he’d challenged her lover to a duel. No honor had been lost because he’d been killed. In fact, society had gathered about his grieving family and presented a solid, united front to anyone who dared to abuse the deceased lord’s memory.
That had been years ago. In the aftermath, Elisa’s name had quickly disappeared into shamed obscurity. No good woman or honorable gentleman would speak of her aloud in polite company. It had only been the relaxed bawdy banter around a late night card table that had alerted Vaughn to the fact Elisa had re-emerged from her exile. His card companions that night had thought it a superb jest his own father had proposed to her. Vaughn had gone along with the joke at the time, thinking the pair deserved each other.
The contradiction between her appearance and her past was indeed confusing.
She was pushing at a piece of the meat on her plate with her fork and Vaughn wondered if she did so to avoid looking up and seeing him watching her. Was she aware of him? By her sweet looks, he would have judged her an innocent, but her reputation told him she probably knew and understood every hot thought running through his mind.
Vaughn sipped at his brandy thoughtfully, alternatively watching Rufus eat and Elisa toy with her food. She really was a lovely creature, he realized. He was not at all surprised two men had fought to the death over her.
She touched her mouth with her napkin, then lifted a fingertip to slide it across her lips a second time, without the linen. It was unconsciously graceful and sensuous. Vaughn’s body tightened with an old familiar ache, intensified beyond reason like a taut bow string stretched to the limits of endurance, vibrating with tension and packed with potential power to explode.
The realization slammed into Vaughn with the shock of ice water.
He wanted her.
And the wanting was not a casual, passing impulse. It was burning in him, pushing aside thought, reason, caution.
Vaughn stared at her, feeling his heart thump erratically and the beat echo in his temple. What was happening to him? Had he lost all good sense?
His thoughts were scattered when Rufus’ hand thumped into his upper arm.
“You’re silent, boy,” Rufus said, not bothering to hide his loathing tone. “One would wonder why you’re still sitting at the table if you’ve got nothing left to say.”
“I’m finishing my brandy, thank you.” The calm tone Vaughn produced took enormous willpower.
He saw Rufus’ eyes swivel to glance at Elisa before glaring at him again. “That’d better be all, boy.”
“I am hardly a boy, Father. You may call me ‘son’ if you would prefer, but as you’ve called me nothing at all these past twenty years, either in person or by correspondence, I won’t insist upon it.”
“If I am such a horrible father, then why are you here?” Rufus asked, one corner of his mouth turned upward in a mocking smile.
Vaughn’s heart gave a little jump. This was it. This was the moment of confrontation he had been anticipating for three days. The anger that had been building for those three days renewed itself, washing over him in waves as he met Rufus’ intent stare.
Elisa abruptly cleared her throat and the tiny sound reminded Vaughn of her presence. Suddenly, he was reluctant to discuss the matter in front of her, despite three days of mentally rehearsing the cutting speech he had intended to bestow upon his father regardless of who was there to see it. In truth, his rehearsal of the confrontation had always included the harlot Elisa on hand to hear all he had to say of his father’s base qualities. Now, it seemed the height of rudeness to let his fury spill out unheeded while she watched.
“What brings you to Fairleigh Hall, boy?” his father asked again.
“I thought it was time to pay a visit before I settled in at Kirkaldy.” The mention of his estate was intentional and he didn’t blink as he waited for his father’s response.
Rufus shifted in his chair. “So…will you be leaving at first light?”
Vaughn’s indirect challenge had completely misfired.
“Surely it has not been twenty years since last you were here?” Elisa remarked, and Vaughn was grateful for the interruption, although irritated it was she who supplied it. He didn’t want to be grateful to the whore. He didn’t want any association with her at all. Now he must play out the little social by-play.
“Indeed, it has been twenty years. Fairleigh Hall has not changed in all that time. Tell me, Elisa, how do you find Fairleigh?”
She lightly touched the napkin to those pink lips. “It’s very nice.”
Her words completely lacked conviction, as well they should. The manor sat in rocky countryside and had little to offer anyone under the age of fifty. He could only imagine how lonely it would be for a young woman to live in such a cold, desolate place.
“How long have you been here?”
“I arrived a little over a month ago, along with my maid, Marianne.”
So, her maid was with her. How very proper. “Do you ride?” he asked. He already knew she did. Rumors of her shocking skill in the saddle had reached every men’s club in London and beyond. Vaughn’s friends had taken great pleasure in telling him about his soon-to-be stepmother’s shortcomings. She wasn’t content to keep to a decorous trot upon a sidesaddle. In her teens she had ridden astride like any man, her dress hoisted up to her thighs to give her the freedom to ride recklessly.
It was rumored she had bested many men on horseback.
“I fear I have little time for riding these days.”
He watched her intently. “Why not?”
His father slammed his drink do
wn, bringing Vaughn’s attention back to him. “Vaughn, you’re making Elisa uncomfortable.”
“He’s not making me uncomfortable, Rufus,” Elisa told him. She smiled soothingly at Rufus before glancing at Vaughn again. “I’ve missed riding.”
“I’m certain Father has a vast array of mares to choose from.”
“I’ve asked Rufus to go with me, but his back pain prevents him from doing so.”
“Certainly a short ride wouldn’t tax you too much, Father?”
Again, he received one of his father’s icy glares. Rufus took a long drink of his claret, keeping his eye upon Vaughn. “I’m too old.”
The response came from him unbidden, unplanned. “Very well, I’ll ride with her, then.”
His father’s face turned purple with anger, but Vaughn barely heard what Rufus was trying to say, for he had seen Elisa’s surprised expression. Then, briefly, a flare of joy followed by a soft, warm smile lifted her lovely full lips. The smile was for him and her eyes sparkled. Vaughn felt his heart give a painful leap in response.
Then abruptly, all expression was removed and her gaze dropped to her plate, as if she had suddenly remembered her place. But the afterglow bathed Vaughn in a heady warmth that threatened to make his hands tremble.
Rufus finally found his voice. “You’ll not be here long enough to have idle time on your hands.”
How like Rufus to dictate how and when he should come and go. Some of the earlier fury leapt in Vaughn’s chest. “Father, long ago you gave up any right to tell me what I can and cannot do.” His voice echoed his anger, emerging low and strained.
Rufus’ eyes narrowed a little. The moment of silence between them grew and Vaughn knew his father was studying him anew, reassessing. Vaughn did not look away. He had no intention of backing down in this petty game of willpower.
Finally Rufus cleared his throat with a harsh hack and reached for the wine.
Vaughn drained his own brandy, needing the small sustenance, knowing he had won but a small victory that would make Rufus all the more determined to bring him down in the very near future. Rufus bent on vengeance was a dangerous man indeed.
While Rufus called for another decanter, swearing at the lack of foresight of the footman, Vaughn dared to glance at Elisa once more and he recognized fear in her eyes. She shook her head a little, her lips opening as if she breathed a warning. She understood what was happening then.
Vaughn smiled at her reassuringly, pretending a confidence he did not wholly feel.
Her hand came to her mouth as if she was distressed and she looked away. After a moment she looked back as if drawn, perhaps reluctantly.
Vaughn struggled to hide the shock her glance sent through him, for he had understood that searing gaze with perfect clarity.
Elisa wanted him, too.
Chapter Two
Elisa’s heart ached as if she had run too hard, too far. An invisible hand was squeezing at her insides, making her feel wretchedly ill, but at the same time there was a heady, intoxicating bubbling in her blood and her mind.
Her entire attention was focused on the man sitting across from her. It was her inability to dismiss him from her mind that made her fearful. She stood to lose far too much if she gave this little attraction any freedom to grow.
Vaughn Wardell. She let the name roll through her mind. As much as his appearance had surprised her, so did his actual existence. Rufus had never mentioned having a son. There was not a single portrait of the heir to the Fairleigh dynasty to be found anywhere in the manor and she had been in every public room since her arrival a month ago.
One servant had told Marianne that all portraits of the previous marchioness had been burned. Apparently Rufus wanted no reminder of the woman who had betrayed him—or that woman’s son.
Elisa had been a little shocked at the barely disguised venom emanating from Rufus. Vaughn’s welcome home had been grim at best. Why did families feel it was permissible to treat each other that way? Against her will, it drew upon her own memories—the hatred Roger’s family had done little to hide from her once he was dead. While Roger had been alive she’d had no idea of the extraordinary depth of that vile emotion buried inside them. Its emergence had been twice as shocking because it had been hidden so completely.
She studied Vaughn discreetly, wondering if he was reeling from the same sense of shock she had once suffered. Her sympathy rose a little higher. He was hiding it well, for he must surely be suffering some sort of reaction after Rufus’ less-than-endearing display.
Standing well over six feet in height, dressed in a dark gray suit, Vaughn dominated the room. His wide shoulders were emphasized by the way the fabric of his coat fit snug against them. Elisa glanced at Rufus’ diminutive height then back at Vaughn. Where had he acquired such stature and such power? His height could only have come from his mother. The power? Men had a unique ability to build power from nothing; they were naturally endowed with more strength than women to begin with. Yes, men had power, certainly. But Vaughn’s whole body radiated strength of both muscle and mind, working in concert, which gave him a potential far greater than those who used only physical force to get their way.
When Vaughn had looked at her over the top of her hand, his eyes had casually swept across her face, drawing her breath from her. His eyes were astonishing; emerald green, framed by long lashes as dark as his hair. Then he’d lifted the square chin, which spoke of a determination that belonged to a much older man and smiled a little, the white teeth revealed behind unexpectedly full lips. Lips made for passion, her treacherous mind had whispered.
Such abundant good health and sleekness was to be found in any young male, but there was an added quality about Vaughn—a sensuality, an animal magnetism that reminded her of her womanhood in a way she had not truly experienced for many years. Her heart would not stop pounding and her breath grew quick. There was a tension, low in the pit of her stomach that stirred and throbbed. How many hearts had this man broken? How many women had sought his arms and enjoyed his virility?
A surge of envy raced through her as she remembered what life had been like as a married woman—before it had all come to a shocking end. There had been privileges of the marriage bed she had secretly enjoyed while women in her social circles had whispered of the disgusting lewdness and depravity their husbands demanded of them. Roger had been a willing and excellent teacher in that regard and it had never occurred to her to ask who had taught him.
Of course it was different for men before they were married—they were expected to sow their wild oats. Because of that leniency, she had been slow to realize Roger’s philandering was systemic and had gone completely unchecked despite their engagement, wedding, or the birth of their son. His conscience had not appeared to hinder him, either. His endless parade of mistresses made it virtually impossible for her to leave her London townhouse or show her face at any social gathering.
Roger’s death, which should have been the end of her exile, had instead turned society’s pity of her into an unyielding condemnation. Their disapproval had been unanimous and unrelenting. Then she had met Rufus who had, astonishingly, believed her. It seemed he was the only one in the world who did.
Rufus, who was barely tolerated by polite society himself, was the one man who would help her find her son and get him back. Of course, Rufus, being a man, could afford to disdain society’s approval and thrive despite it. She, on the other hand, had no help or offers of security, making his friendship impossible to refuse.
She bit into her bottom lip, harried by doubts she wished would cease plaguing her. Marrying Rufus was the only door open to her now. For her son’s sake, she would do anything.
Elisa let her mind run through the litany of her past, deliberately recalling her reasons for accepting Rufus’ marriage proposal. The repetition of reasons for her decision usually calmed her emotions and helped her accept the distress her new role created.
It should have calmed her now, but it did not.
&nb
sp; She looked at Vaughn, taking in his features like a woman starved for the sight of her lover. A warmth spread through her veins, down low into her belly.
This will soon be your stepson, she reminded herself, but it didn’t matter, because her body was responding to an attraction that was ageless, wordless and far beyond logic or sense.
For her son’s sake, she had to resist her own betraying body.
Then Vaughn’s gaze met hers. Her thoughts scattered under the direct, challenging stare. There was a sensuality in that look, an implied promise that made her heart jump. The dizziness imparted from his first appearance leapt high and made her senses swirl until all she could do was stare into his eyes. His gaze had reached out wordlessly across the table and stroked her soul.
Flustered, she reached for the barely touched wineglass by her plate, only to topple it to the cloth. Blood red liquid flowed across the spotless linen, as the overturned crystal clattered against unused cutlery.
Rufus shook his head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” he raged, throwing his napkin on top of the mess.
She breathed deeply, trying to gather her scattered wits, to bring herself back to normal. She must keep her mind upon mundane realities!
Vaughn rose to his feet. “It was a simple accident. Linen will wash.” His voice was a lazy drawl.
“And you, you unwelcome upstart…If you’ve finished your brandy you can get the hell out of my dining room. You’re spoiling the mood.”
Elisa couldn’t help but look up at Vaughn. Rufus’ snarled obscenities would have been enough to send her running for her room. But Vaughn merely smiled and gave a graceful nod of his head. “If your claret is of the same inferior quality as the glass of brandy I just drank, you’d best look to your victuals for the source of the sour mood. Since I’ve depleted my tolerance for both mood and brandy, I’ll bid you goodnight.”
Forbidden (Scandalous Sirens) Page 2