Behind the Mask (House of Lords)

by Brooke, Meg

  Nodding, Colin said, “When the militia arrive tomorrow I want you to assign them patrols. Four men in a group, three patrols a day: morning, afternoon, and night, with the extra patrol standing guard over the house.”

  “Very well. Would you like me to accompany the patrols?”

  “No,” Colin said, “I’ll need you to stay here and work with Colonel Taylor.”

  “Of course,” Strathmore said, clearly pleased to have the responsibility. Ordinarily Colin would have liaised with the leader of the regiment himself, but he had other things to do.

  He was getting married in two days.

  FOURTEEN

  Eleanor was sitting before the looking glass while Lily arranged her hair when there was a knock at the door. Maris burst in, followed closely by Georgina.

  “Eleanor!” Maris cried, “Is it true? Are you and Lord Pierce really engaged?”

  Eleanor nodded as shallowly as she could, since Lily was still inserting pins into her hair. “The wedding will be on Tuesday,” she said.

  Maris frowned. “Yes, Mama told us. But why so soon, Elly? Have you been ruined?” She was smiling gleefully, as if the prospect of her elder sister’s downfall delighted her.

  “Maris,” Georgina said quietly, “you cannot ask her that.”

  “Whyever not?” Maris pouted.

  “Because...well, I don’t know why,” her twin said, smiling bemusedly. “Congratulations, Elly,” she added, coming over to kiss Eleanor’s cheek. “I think you will be very happy.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Eleanor said.

  “He is quite devastatingly handsome,” Maris put in.

  Eleanor laughed. “I hardly think that is a determiner of happiness, dear. There are quite a few handsome husbands in the world who are also cads and philanderers.”

  “But Lord Pierce won’t be one of those,” Georgina said confidently.

  “Let us hope so. I should hate to be the laughingstock of Brussels society.”

  “Will he take you there, Elly?” Maris asked.

  Shrugging, she said, “I don’t know. We have not discussed it yet. But that is where his work is, and I should not like to take him from something that means so much to him.” For the first time it occurred to her that if she went with Colin to the Continent, she would not be able to continue her work with the school. What would she say to Clarissa and Cynthia and Imogen? She supposed she ought to write her friends and give them the news of her marriage, though she could not imagine how to begin such a letter. Dear Cynthia, she imagined herself writing, I have been ruined and married all in the space of three days. Now I’m off to Brussels. Ta!

  There were other, more important things to think about now. Eleanor had spent the afternoon with Mrs. Clarence and Mr. Jameson, trying to decide where to put forty militiamen and their Colonel, and how to incorporate the military presence into the plans that had already been laid out. Meticulously, they had put together a schedule of the princess’s visit for Mr. Strathmore, laying out every activity and meal and empty moment. Eleanor hoped the events met with Colin’s approval—she could hardly have the princess sitting in the salon staring at her toes.

  Besides, the invitations for the dinners and musical evenings and the masquerade had already been sent. They could hardly cancel any of the events now. It would be too insulting to the invited guests, and too embarrassing for her mother. And when word of Eleanor’s marriage began circulating, it would be impossible to keep the guests away. Ogling the young couple would give them the perfect excuse to call without coming expressly to see the Princess Victoria.

  “But Eleanor,” Georgina said now, “you will not leave immediately, will you?” Eleanor thought there might be tears in her sister’s eyes.

  “I cannot say,” she said, rising and going to take Georgina’s hand. Her sister blinked tearfully at her. “Don’t worry, dearest. We will see each other often, I’m sure.”

  “Of course,” Georgina said, wiping hastily at the single tear rolling down her cheek. “Of course. Forgive me, Eleanor. How silly to cry at such a moment.”

  In a way, Eleanor was glad that she would not have a lengthy engagement. Her father’s death had drawn the family closer together, and they had become quite tight-knit over the last few years. If she had had to wait months before her wedding, the farewells would only have been more drawn-out and tearful. This way she would be married and gone before she knew it. Perhaps it would be less painful that way.

  As her sisters giggled behind their hands, Eleanor met her fiancé in the front hall before supper. He bowed correctly under Leo’s watchful eye while Lady Sidney beamed. They were seated next to each other for the meal, but because everyone else was listening carefully, the discussion was constrained to the plans for the ceremony and how they would celebrate the wedding once the princess had arrived. Eleanor noticed that her mother very carefully steered the conversation away from what would happen after the princess’s visit was over, for which she was very grateful. She would prefer to have that conversation alone with Colin rather than in front of her mother and siblings.

  But it seemed that the opportunity for them to speak alone would never come. In a way, Eleanor was glad of this, for it meant that she could delay telling Colin about her previous disgrace a little longer. But she knew that sooner or later they would have a great many things to discuss. There were a thousand questions she would like to have answered before she was officially bound to him for the rest of her life.

  It was only when it was nearing midnight and an evening of cards and listening to Georgina play had been endured and Leo had already begged exhaustion and gone off to bed that Eleanor’s mother said with a knowing smile, “Perhaps you would like to escort your fiancé upstairs, Eleanor?”

  Blushing, Eleanor rose and led Colin from the room, trying to ignore the way her sisters were snickering. If she was going to have to endure this sort of mortification again and again until they were wed, she thought she might abduct Colin and ride away with him to Gretna tonight.

  Colin held out his arm and she took it, and together they went into the salon and towards the stairs. “My mother has all the subtlety of a rhinoceros,” Eleanor said ruefully.

  He laughed, a warm, low sound. Then he leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear, and whispered, “I will take any opportunity I have of being alone with you.” For the barest instant his lips brushed against her earlobe, and she felt a thrill sizzle through her from her toes to the ends of her hair.

  She turned to him, her fingers sliding up his lapel. “Perhaps Gretna isn’t such a bad idea,” she whispered.

  “What does that mean?”

  She smiled. “Nothing,” she said, and she went up on her toes to kiss him, his moustache tickling her upper lip.

  “You don’t mind it, do you?” he asked. “It helps me fit in in Brussels.”

  “Your moustache? No, of course not. It gives you a rakish look.”

  His lips feathered along her jaw. She tilted her head back so that he could kiss her neck. “You do know that I am about the farthest thing from a rake you could find?”

  “Are you really?” she asked, trying very hard not to gasp as he ran his tongue along her collarbone. “Then what was that, this afternoon in the lodge?”

  He lifted his head and whispered against her lips, “You have a point.”

  Then he silenced her next argument with a passionate kiss, his tongue darting out to play with hers, his hands sliding down her back to pull her against him so that she could feel his hardness. When his erection pressed against her, a delicious warmth spread through her body, leaving her gasping for breath.

  When at last they came up for air, he said, “I don’t know how I can possibly survive until Tuesday.”

  “Must we wait?” she asked, surprising even herself.

  “Eleanor,” he said, his tone serious again, “Your mother will be passing through in a moment."

  She could feel a hot thread of desire coursing through her veins. "Follow me
, then," she said, and she took his hand and pulled him across the hall into the library.

  The room was dark and silent, the only light the pale aura of the moon hidden behind the late-summer haze of clouds beyond the high windows. She shut the door firmly and turned the key. Then she rested her hand against the dark wood a moment, asking herself if what she meant to do was really wise. Upon further examination, she found that she didn't care. The wanting was too strong, the intensity of her desire for him too great to be resisted any longer. When she turned to face him. He was staring at her, his dark eyes intense.

  "I want you to make love to me," she said.

  For a moment Colin thought he had forgotten how to breathe. At last he managed to stammer, "Here?"

  Eleanor nodded, that sultry look he had seen earlier coming into her eyes. She tilted her chin down and looked up at him through her lashes. One golden lock had come loose from her coiffure and trailed down her neck. She took a step towards him, then another. He stood stiff and silent, certain that if he moved at all he would lose what little control he had left. He had never wanted a woman so much in his life.

  She was close enough to touch him now. "Here," she said, putting out one hand and trailing her fingers over the buttons of his waistcoat, slipping them free as she did.

  "Oh, God, Eleanor," he said, his voice hoarse.

  She laid her other hand on his chest and looked up at him. Where had she learned that expression? "Kiss me," she whispered.

  He could not refuse. He wrapped his arms around her as she pressed herself against his chest, her lips eagerly seeking his. She kissed him with wild abandon, one hand sliding up into his hair. His fingers found the laces of her gown and began pulling them loose. When he had undone the last knot, he slipped the low sleeves off her shoulders and the whole thing fell from her shoulders, revealing her thin chemise above layers of petticoats. She stepped back and, with a single tug at the lace, the petticoats fell away as well, and then there was only thin lawn between her lithe, delicate body and the moonlight. She came into his arms again, the heat of her skin through the chemise setting his body afire.

  Her hands came up underneath his coat, pushing it off his shoulders and taking his waistcoat with it. He pulled his cravat loose as she tugged his shirttails from his trousers. When his chest was bared she ran her hands over his muscles, her fingers against his skin pure torment. He pushed the straps of her chemise off her shoulders and the garment slithered down her body, baring her to him at last. He took her hand and pulled her down onto the carpet, laying her out among the cloud of her petticoats, and then he looked at her, taking in the beauty of her pink skin illuminated by the moonlight.

  "You take my breath away," he said.

  She smiled up at him, and then, his hand still in hers, she pulled him down atop her, spreading her legs to welcome him.

  "Eleanor," he whispered, "I cannot wait much longer."

  She shook her head and reached down to undo his trousers. "Now," she said, releasing him and running her fingers over his length. "Take me now."

  He found her entrance and pressed against her. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

  "You won't."

  With a moan, he thrust into her. Her silken passage enfolded him, and as he pushed deeper he realized that she had meant it. He would not hurt her. He had suspected she was not a virgin, of course, and he really didn't care whether she was or not. But now he understood why she had known what to do, why she had taken such a commanding lead. Then she moved her hips against him and pressed her lips to his neck, and he forgot everything he had been thinking. There was only her, warm and enticingly wet, her body driving him wild with desperation as he thrust into her again and again. At last he felt her body convulse beneath him, and she sobbed with pleasure against his shoulder. A few more thrusts and he joined her, spilling his seed into her, his lips against her hair. She fell back into the cushion of her petticoats and he collapsed atop her, gasping for breath.

  They lay like that for a long while, but at last he said, "We should get dressed."

  "Yes," she said.

  He withdrew from her and held his hand out to help her rise. She found her chemise and slid into it, watching him as he buttoned his shirt and slipped on his waistcoat. She tied on her petticoats and then said, "Will you lace my gown?"

  When they were both as presentable as possible, he took her in his arms and kissed her again, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. "Thank you, Eleanor," he said softly. "This is a precious gift you have given me."

  Looking rather bemused, she said, "You're not angry that I'm not...not a virgin?"

  He shook his head. "Not in the slightest," he said, "though if some bastard hurt you I promise you I will hunt him down."

  "No," she said. "I made a foolish choice when I was very young. I always believed that no man would want me after that, or that if he did he would punish me the rest of our married lives once he discovered the truth."

  "You may be sure you will receive no such treatment from me," he promised. "I know better than most people that everyone makes foolish mistakes when they believe they are in love."

  “Do you?” she asked.

  For an instant he thought of telling her what had happened in Vienna, of the disgrace that had sent him fleeing to Brussels. But he could not bear for her to think of him what others who knew the whole truth did. For a little while longer, at least, he wanted to see that admiring glint in her eyes, to know that she trusted him to take care of her. She might not feel the same way when she learned what had transpired that night. So he said simply, “It is a story for another time.”

  She nodded. “Shall I do as my mother suggested and escort you up to your rooms, Lord Pierce?”

  “It would be a pleasure, Miss Chesney,” he said, holding out his arm for her. On silent feet they left the library and went up the stairs. It was only when they reached the top and had to part that he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good night, Eleanor,” he said.

  “Good night,” she whispered. Then she turned and disappeared down the corridor to her chamber, and Colin did the same.

  FIFTEEN

  September 1, 1834

  Eleanor slept indulgently late the next morning. Lily had already gone off to bed when she had slipped into her chambers at last, and Eleanor had no illusions that her maid did not guess where her mistress had been. And yet when Lily arrived at last with her breakfast on a tray, she said nothing about Eleanor’s late night, and nor did she ask any questions. Lily had been with Eleanor since she was sixteen, and was one of only three people in the world who knew what had happened that summer. But unlike Toby, Lily had never abandoned Eleanor, had never passed any judgment on her behavior. They were of an age, Eleanor and her maid. They had been born the same year, Eleanor at the great house and Lily in Porter-on-Bolling. They had even known each other when they were girls, though Lily had always been shy and quiet, and it had been quite a surprise to find her working as an upstairs maid at the house when Eleanor had returned from the Moreton School. They had been together ever since, and Eleanor knew that Lily was unfailingly loyal. She had never asked the woman to lie for her, and yet Lily had kept her secret all these years, had hardly ever spoken a word about what had happened except to explain, her face turning a brilliant shade of scarlet, how Eleanor would know for certain there would be no evidence of her disgrace.

  And it was a disgrace. Eleanor had known that from the moment she came out of that trapdoor at the castle and saw Toby spreading his cloak over the ground, ready to welcome her with a bottle of his father’s best wine. She had not hated herself in that instant, but it had not taken long after that night for her to understand how much shame would rain down upon her if anyone ever discovered her foolishness. And yet she had gone back, swayed by Toby’s insistence that he loved her, that they would be married, that they would be together forever.

  What had she known then of love? For that matter, what did she know now?

 
; Sitting in the little chair before her windows, watching the fog rolling out of the valley, Eleanor allowed herself to mull over that question.

  Could she come to love Colin? She was certainly attracted to him. From the moment she had seen him in the hall of Sidney House in London she had wanted him—she was able to admit that now, though she had tried to deny it then, to tell herself that the rapidness of her heartbeat and the trembling of her fingers had been merely annoyance at the inconvenience he posed. When had she finally realized that it was not annoyance but attraction that she felt? Eleanor closed her eyes and leaned her head back, picturing a moment not four days ago, in a nameless village, when she had blushed to tell him that her mother had encouraged her to marry so that she could take a long honeymoon on the Continent. He had not scoffed at her or appeared to suspect her motives. Instead he had smiled and said that she would enjoy it. But it had not been that moment—it had been something after that, she thought now. When she had mentioned a Russian novel she had read, he had looked at her so strangely, something in his expression that was almost like...respect.

  Toby had wanted her. She knew that. Perhaps he did still. But there were very few men who respected her intelligence, who understood her love of learning. Now, with a wry laugh, she thought back to another afternoon, barely a week ago, when Lord Marsh had sat in the drawing room and told her that he did not mind her reading French and German and Russian, but that she would certainly have to give it up once they were married, as he believed that foreign languages were too taxing for the brain of a breeding woman.

  At least she knew that Colin would never ask that of her. If anything he would want her to speak three languages to their children to give them an advantage over those of other diplomats.

  The thought of children, of having a child with Colin, brought an unexpected warmth to her heart. When Georgina had said that Eleanor had not shown much interest in Clarissa’s infants, she had been right, but not for the reason she suspected. Eleanor had never expected to have children of her own. Though she was barely twenty-one, she had begun to expect that she would remain as she was now, at her mother’s side, always doing her duty. The pain of watching Clarissa’s joy, of seeing her friend and her husband rejoicing in the new life they had brought into the world, was almost too much for her to bear.