A Lady's Deception

by Pamela Mingle

  “It’s a bit difficult to envision everything, but I’ll try to explain.” He glanced up. “We are standing in the entry hall. As you can see, it has a high ceiling. I haven’t made up my mind how to decorate it, but nothing too grand.”

  He went on. “To your left is the dining room, with kitchens and larder to the rear.”

  “Kitchens on the ground floor?” Eleanor said. “That’s unique.”

  Hugh laughed. “I prefer my food hot. Transporting it upstairs from the basement doesn’t allow that, and it amounts to more work for the servants who must carry it up.”

  He touched her shoulder, gently turning her toward the opposite side. “Over here is a parlor or morning room, whatever you prefer to call it.”

  “Lovely,” Eleanor said. “It will get plenty of light.” It was hard to concentrate when he kept touching her.

  “Let’s walk toward the back. We’re in the central hall now. On your right is a billiard or card room.” They had arrived at the rear of the house. “French doors here, leading to the terrace and gardens. Not constructed yet, of course.”

  “And what’s this on the right? It looks like a large space.”

  “This, I have the feeling, will be my favorite part of the house. The library and study.”

  “Oh, Hugh, this will be a wonderful room. The windows face your back gardens. So very cozy on cold winter days.”

  He eyed her speculatively, a sparkle in his eye, and she thought he might have kissed her if they’d been alone. Instead, he said in a low voice, “Cozy, yes.” His breath was featherlight against her ear, and she felt her face flood with warmth. Hugh smiled. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  They had to walk back to the front to get to the stairs, and he grasped her arm again. “Mind your step. The floor is littered with building debris.” He didn’t let go of her until they’d reached the first floor. “As you can see, this is a gallery of sorts.” Again, he glanced around, as if he couldn’t quite believe this belonged to him. “Not for portraits; the Grey family hasn’t any.”

  The space looked down over the entry hall. “I love it,” Eleanor said. “And maybe you will have portraits someday.”

  His smile was wry. “Perhaps. At the back, through these doors, is a drawing room. This space, taken in its entirety, could be opened up for entertainments, if the occasion arises.”

  Now he took her hand and guided her down a hallway off the gallery. He stopped at the first room, and Eleanor peeked inside. “Oh!” This was obviously Hugh’s bedchamber, which was partially furnished. Embarrassed, she spun around, but not before she’d caught a glimpse of the rumpled shirt and worn britches he’d been wearing when she arrived. They lay in a heap on the bed, which was an impressive piece of furniture. Made from a dark wood, mahogany most likely, and massive. It made quite a statement. The bed of the lord of the manor. Could she help it if her heart beat a little faster?

  “My personal domain,” Hugh said, lifting an eyebrow at her.

  “I gathered as much,” she said, ducking her head. There was no one about up here, and the noise of the workmen would drown out any sounds. If they… Oh, Lord, pull yourself together, Eleanor.

  Hugh was gazing at her as though he was thinking the same thing she was. “That’s a fetching dress you’re wearing, Eleanor. One I believe I’ve seen before.”

  Oh, dear God, he remembered. Blood rushed to warm her cheeks.

  “I wish you weren’t wearing this bit, here. What’s it called? A fish-something?” He glided a finger along the inner edges of her bodice.

  She sucked in a breath. “It’s a fichu.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” He stepped closer. “I quite like it. The dress, I mean. Minus the fichu.” He gave her a devilish smile, then said, “We should go back downstairs.”

  “Yes, of course,” Eleanor managed to stammer, doubting her ability to walk on her trembling legs.

  Once they were outside, he pointed out the various materials yet to be incorporated into the house. “The glaziers haven’t started yet, but soon. The first floor windows are not yet hung.”

  He pointed out the brickmakers, and then took her over to some long tables where carpenters were hard at work constructing cupboards, shelves, moldings, and doors. Just then, Ned called to Hugh.

  “Pardon me for a moment, Eleanor,” he said, striding off.

  While she watched, one of the carpenters glanced up, and Eleanor found herself looking into the malicious eyes of Jacob Abbot.

  She nearly shrieked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss Broxton,” Abbot said. He’d been sanding a door, but set it aside and came around the table toward her. She took a step back. “Didn’t know you were a friend of Mr. Grey’s.”

  Nonsensically, she said, “Sir Hugh. Call him Sir Hugh.”

  His laugh was sharp. He lowered his head close to hers, and in that act Eleanor saw a drowning of all her hopes for the future. Abbot was about to expose her, to tell Hugh her secret, and her life with Lili would be swept away like so much flotsam and jetsam. Abbot had a discolored incisor, and how odd she’d never noticed it before. It rather sickened her to look at it.

  “Does Mr…Sir Hugh know about the little one? Know you’re the mother of a bastard?” he whispered.

  Eleanor came to her senses. No matter what havoc Abbot was about to wreak, she couldn’t be seen like this with him. She spun and blindly moved away from him. And bumped into Hugh’s solid chest.

  “Are you all right, Miss Broxton?” He glanced over her shoulder. “Get back to work, Mr. Abbot.” Hugh offered his arm, and she grabbed it and held on tight. They walked toward the path.

  “I must go,” Eleanor said, trying not to sound as flustered as she felt.

  “I’m not blind, Eleanor. Something happened. Did he hurt you? Insult you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

  “Will you be home tonight? At the cottage, I mean?”

  She was trembling all over and had to get away before he noticed. “Probably. I don’t know. Good-bye, Hugh. Thank you for the tour.”

  …

  Hugh remained standing where the path disappeared into the woods, hands on hips, staring at nothing. What had happened? To his gratification, Eleanor had appeared to love the house as much as he did. While he was guiding her through the rooms, he couldn’t help but envision her in each one. The two of them breaking their fast in the dining room while they looked over their correspondence and the newspapers; curled up together in the library, reading; greeting guests in the gallery. And Eleanor in his bed, naked, splendid, letting him worship her with his eyes and then his body.

  And then he’d stepped away for a moment, and it had all gone to hell. Hugh had no idea what had occurred with Abbot. Whatever it was had rattled her so badly, she could barely speak sensibly and had insisted on leaving immediately.

  Tonight he would call on her and get to the bottom of this. If Abbot had hurt her in some way, Hugh would let the man go instantly.

  …

  Eleanor could not remember how she arrived back at the cottage. But the next time she had a coherent thought, she was standing inside the main room. Out of habit, she stirred the fire back to life and placed the teakettle on the hangar. A warm drink would restore her senses.

  While the water was heating, she moved about the cottage straightening, sorting, and putting away. She moved the mannequin to the back room, out of sight, and pushed the cutting table under the shelves near the door. Then she ran her hands over each garment they were currently working on—a gown of a fine, white muslin, a striped satin petticoat, and the pelisse Jane was still embroidering, although she was nearly done now. She held them against her face and inhaled the clean scent of them. When the water had boiled, she brewed the tea in her china teapot, served herself, and sat down. After a few swallows, her brain began functioning again.

  What to do about Abbot? It was only a matter of time until he demanded something from her. Money, probably. With
a shudder, she imagined what else it could be. But Abbot had never made any advances toward her, had never behaved in a lewd or suggestive manner, merely a menacing one. Whatever his demands, she would be forced to a decision. Pay him off. Or refuse, and wait for him to inform Hugh of Lili’s existence. Or tell Hugh herself. In her deepest self, she knew that was the most rational and unselfish choice.

  If she called Abbot’s bluff and refused to meet his demands, was he truly prepared to reveal her secret? By doing so, he and his wife would lose the extra income she and her father provided for Lili’s care. And he would also sacrifice his employment at Longmere. Surely, he couldn’t afford to lose both sources of income.

  Hugh, meanwhile, was sure to quiz her about Abbot. She had to invent a plausible explanation, or he would become suspicious. That was his nature, especially where she was concerned.

  Eleanor had loved seeing Hugh’s house, had even imagined herself as its mistress, and Lili running about from room to room. She needed to rid her mind of such fantasies. They were dreams. Impossible dreams. Because when Hugh learned about his daughter, he may want nothing more to do with Eleanor. If he acknowledged his child, the scandal would be most unwelcome. Given how he felt about his own mother, heaven only knew what he’d think about Eleanor’s decisions regarding Lili.

  Someone knocked on the door, and she had a wild notion it would be Abbot. But it was much more likely to be Hugh. He’d as much as said he was coming. With a hesitant voice, she asked, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Hugh, Eleanor. May I come in?” He stood a moment in the doorway, a halo of fading daylight framing his big body. He was holding something, the basket she’d brought him earlier. “I’m glad to see you are being more cautious about visitors,” he said. “Do you realize you’re sitting in the dark?”

  “Oh.” No, she had not. It had still been daylight when she’d arrived back at the cottage. Night must have settled in as she lingered at the worktable, musing. She got to her feet and said, “I’ll light some candles.”

  “Let me.” Holding up the basket, he said, “I brought the apple tarts. Thought we might need something for breakfast.” And as though he hadn’t said anything to turn her world topsy-turvy, he set about igniting the spills for the candlelighting.

  Should she argue? Ask him to leave? She could do neither. The thought of spending the night with him raised gooseflesh, made her breath catch, sent prickles to every nerve ending. “Would you like tea? I was just having some.”

  “No. I don’t want anything. I came to see you were well. Will you tell me what Jacob Abbot said that upset you?” He paused and looked at her.

  She loved his voice. In the darkness, it was a violin, vibrating with a spellbinding resonance. But that was not what she should be paying attention to at the moment. “It was nothing. He mistook me for another acquaintance and said something…inappropriate. It startled me.”

  Hugh walked toward her. “He shouldn’t speak in such a way to a lady. I’ll have him sacked tomorrow.”

  “No. Please don’t do that. He didn’t know—”

  “Abbot knew well enough he was addressing a lady and that you were my guest.”

  “He may need this job to support his family. He’s an uneducated man, unrefined, and no doubt accustomed to such talk. Give him another chance.”

  “You defend him most heartily, Eleanor. Do you have a previous acquaintance with him?”

  “No, of course not. I simply believe you shouldn’t judge him so harshly.”

  He studied her face, her eyes, and she wasn’t sure what he would discover there. Fear? Deception? After a long moment, he gave a decisive nod. “Very well. But you will tell me if anything else untoward happens with him. Promise me that much.”

  Relief flooded her. “Of course.”

  He caught her hand, raised it, and lightly kissed her fingers. His touch was electric. When he drew her close, she did not resist, although the thinking part of her reckoned that would be the wiser course of action.

  “Eleanor, if you don’t want me here, tell me at once.” His voice was both a plea and a demand.

  “Don’t leave, Hugh. I couldn’t bear it if you left.”

  He crushed her to him with one arm, his other hand gripping the back of her head, smoothing her hair and sliding down to her neck. Before she could reply, his lips had covered hers.

  And then it was too late to refuse him, because she wanted him so very much. Had been wanting him for two long years. When their tongues collided, he drew back and then quickly renewed his sensual invasion, turning his head, kissing her harder and more fiercely than the first time. It was fearsome and exquisite all at once. She nipped at his bottom lip, then sucked it into her mouth. When their teeth clashed, they both laughed.

  Eleanor unbuttoned his coat and tugged his shirt free of his britches, sliding her hands beneath it. She skimmed her fingers over the dark hair on his chest, caressing each sculpted sinew. Hard and soft at the same time. Like stone and satin. With a gasp, Hugh picked her up and carried her to the back room. She’d forgotten her bed was covered with journals, her sketch pad, swatches of fabric, patterns. Hugh set her down and with one hand swept it all to the floor.

  Ordinarily, this would have driven her mad, but another kind of madness was overtaking her. “Turn around,” Hugh commanded. He began to unfasten her dress, dropping kisses on her nape while his fingers fumbled with the hooks. “Can’t you design something that doesn’t require so much work to get in and out of?”

  Eleanor laughed, then reached back and ran a hand over his thigh, until finally, brazenly, she found his erection and caressed it.

  “If you continue with that, this will be over before it starts.” At last he finished and shoved her dress down until it lay in a puddle of cambric at her feet. “Now the damnable stays. You women and your excess apparel. I grow weary of it.” Eleanor couldn’t help giggling.

  When he’d finished unlacing her, she was left in nothing but her stockings and gauzy chemise. Hugh moved the candle holder so that more light reflected on her. He glided his hands up her calves, up her thighs, until he found her garter, which he untied in one yank. And then he slid her stocking down, lifted her foot, and pulled it off. He repeated the process with the other leg, but this time while doing so, he leaned his head into her and did wicked things with his mouth, things that made her moan with pleasure. Who would have guessed a tongue could feel that good through fabric?

  “Hugh, you’re torturing me,” she said, half serious.

  “Mmm. Am I?”

  “I want your clothes off, Sir Hugh. Now.”

  He smiled, tried to hide it, but then laughed. “If that is what you want, far be it from me to gainsay you.” He rose, tugged his shirt off, then his boots. When that was done, he pulled off his britches. Eleanor thought it was probably gauche to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Since that day at the pond, when he’d risen from the water, she’d known, if given the chance, that’s exactly what she would do.

  Hugh’s shaft rose from its nest of black hair, his bollocks taut beneath. “What should I do now, my goddess? Athena, are you?”

  “Lie on the bed. I want to see you.” Her throat was so dry, it was difficult to speak.

  He did as she asked, stretching out with his head propped in one hand. “What would you like to do to me, Eleanor?” His dark gaze seared her.

  “Touch you all over. With my hands. With my mouth.”

  He lay back and opened his arms. “Have at it, my beautiful warrior.”

  She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, lifting her chemise out of the way. Hugh motioned her toward him. “Let’s remove this, shall we?” He pulled it off in one swift motion. Now he was sitting up, his shaft rising between them. He wrapped her in his arms, and they were so close, as close as two people could be outside of the ultimate joining. His arousal pushed into her abdomen. And then he kissed her, running his hands down her back to her bottom.

  He smelled of sawdust. And the woods, and summer.
Fresh and strong and male.

  “I know this was your time to explore, but will you give me just a moment?”

  Blushing, she nodded. How could she refuse him?

  “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. Your breasts are perfection. I couldn’t see them properly in the stable that night.” He held one in the palm of each hand, massaging, gazing at her face and then back at her breasts. He lightly caressed their tips until she gasped his name. Heat pooled between her legs, along with a torturous pressure begging to be relieved.

  He chuckled softly and lay down. Eleanor began by kissing and licking his chest, then grazing his nipples with her teeth. Judging from his intake of breath, Hugh enjoyed that, as she suspected he might. She nuzzled her face into his neck and peppered it with kisses. Then she worked her way down, kissing, nipping, dipping her tongue into his navel. And there was his maleness, waiting for her attention.

  She knew, she’d heard, that men liked women to…to kiss their male parts, but she didn’t quite have the courage to do it. Instead she wrapped her fingers around his member and, gently twisting and rotating her hand, moved up toward the crown at the tip. He moaned and moved his hips until they found a rhythm together.

  “Oh, God, Eleanor, I must have you now.” He pulled himself up and rolled her onto her back. She opened her legs for him, and his fingers played, teased, until she was reduced to moaning and begging.

  “Stop. No, don’t you dare stop. Oh God, Hugh.”

  He trailed a finger downward and slid it inside her. A slow smile spread over his face. “You’re ready, my Athena.”

  All at once he was there, pressing into her, burying himself inside her. As he stroked in and out, a pulsating need gripped her. Hugh propped himself on one arm, using his other hand to find her sensitive bud. With every thrust, he lightly massaged it, until she came with a piercing, burning sweetness. She clung to Hugh, repeating his name over and over while the exquisite pleasure peaked and slowly began to ease.

  And then he drove into her again, this time with a greater urgency, and she felt him deep inside. Eleanor ran her hands up his arms and over his chest, squeezing his nipples between her fingers. Before she realized what he was doing, he’d withdrawn from her, just as he cried out his pleasure and spilled onto the sheet. He lowered himself onto her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her so close she could barely catch her breath.