Eliot’s disdainful bow conveyed no respect. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“I won’t inform Imogen of your blatant disregard for her welfare and reputation. It will only cause her distress.” If his father loved anyone, he loved Imogen. And she’d always had the knack of handling the old man better than Eliot ever did. “I’d like to avoid a scandal as long as I can, although if you continue along this absurd path, you’ll ruin the whole family in the end, you useless cur.”
In truth, Eliot felt a twinge of guilt about the impact that his courtship might have on Imogen’s season. Although as he’d said to Verena, the girl was such a catch, her brother’s behavior wouldn’t destroy her long-term prospects. “If I wed Lady Verena, Imogen will know.”
“I hope she’s safe by then. The engagement to Lord Halston is close to done and dusted. I’m expecting him to offer for her any day now.”
“Yes?” Eliot asked, not liking where this was going. He hadn’t been paying as much attention as he should to Imogen’s beaux. The end of his love affair with Verena had left him too sunk in despair.
He’d heard rumors about his sister and Halston. The man struck him as too experienced for a girl of only twenty. His reputation as a ladies’ man wasn’t much better than Shelburn’s. On the other hand, Eliot could imagine the licentious earl was more to Imogen’s taste than prosy, middle-aged Lord Chippenham. And perhaps Halston was sincerely in love with Imogen. Eliot might be biased, but he thought that his sister was a genuine prize. Too good for Halston, in truth.
Of course, whispers of engagements were meat and potatoes to society. Most of them ended up being as insubstantial as sea mist. But Halston had danced with Imogen at every ball that Eliot had attended lately. Not to mention that the man had invited Imogen down to the country for his recent house party, which seemed a marked sign of favor.
“I can’t stop you from pursuing this disastrous course, much as I want to,” his father said. “But if you have an ounce of love for me, if you have an ounce of love for your sister, don’t do anything to spoil her chances with Halston. Her marriage to him will be a triumph, and it will put her out of reach of the catastrophe that you threaten to bring down on this family.”
Eliot frowned. His father sounded desperate, which wasn’t his usual manner. His standard tone was command not entreaty. Despite everything that had just passed between them, Eliot couldn’t help considering his father’s request. Because while he didn’t give a rat’s arse about his sire, he dearly loved his sister.
If Imogen wanted Halston and he wanted her, Eliot owed it to her not to stand in their way. He pointed out the obvious flaw in his father’s plan. “The season has just started. What if Halston doesn’t propose until August?”
What if Halston didn’t propose at all?
“Then give me a month.” Now that his anger seeped away, his father look tired and unwell. Pity made an uncomfortable bedfellow with Eliot’s long-standing hatred. “Why the devil would Halston delay, if he’s found the girl for him? And he must know Imogen doesn’t lack for admirers. He won’t want to take the chance of losing her.”
Eliot’s lips closed against an instinctive urge to deny his father. Verena wouldn’t wait a month to choose another lover. That oily bastard Shelburn was already hanging about like a bad smell. Every time Eliot turned around, the rogue was dogging Verena’s steps.
On the other hand, Eliot continued to pursue Verena because he suspected that he was more to her than just a passing amusement. If she forgot him so easily, perhaps he should just accept his broken heart and give her up.
Not to mention that he owed Imogen his loyalty. He’d never underestimated the almighty scandal that would break out if he and Verena married. Their association would set every tongue in society wagging, which was one of the reasons that he’d tried so hard to keep their affair secret until now.
He was willing to pay the price to win the woman he loved. But must his sister pay the price, too?
“A month’s delay won’t change my mind about marrying Verena,” he said coldly.
Eliot knew his father well enough to realize that he didn’t just make this plea on behalf of Imogen’s happiness. The earl hoped that if his son had time to weigh consequences, he’d repent of his imprudent intentions. But none of that changed the fact that wooing Verena could disadvantage Imogen.
“That may be,” the earl said. “But it will give Imogen a chance to marry the man she wants. When Halston proposes, she can push for a quick wedding. I doubt he’ll kick up a fuss.”
The man she wanted, not to mention the man with the Prince Regent’s ear and a network of connections at the top levels of society and business. His father wasn’t thinking of Imogen’s heart, but how he could take advantage of his influential son-in-law.
“After a month, you will make no public complaint about my courtship of Verena. If we marry, you’ll come to the wedding.”
Displeasure flashed in the earl’s eyes, but after a moment, he nodded. “Agreed.”
Eliot despised his father, but the stamp of parental approval on the match might start to rehabilitate Verena as a respectable member of society. Given Imogen’s situation, what else could Eliot do but cooperate?
Squaring his shoulders, he told himself that it was only four little weeks. He tried not to think of how this last fortnight since his beloved had broken with him had seemed to last a thousand years. He could survive a month. Even if Verena took another lover, it didn’t herald the end of his hopes. Although every masculine cell in his body howled in protest at the thought of her turning to another man.
Taking a deep breath, he bent his head in grudging surrender. His heart remained heavy. “In that case, we have a deal. I’ll delay my wooing of Lady Verena for a month, or until Halston and Imogen sort everything out between them.”
His father’s gloating smile deepened his disquiet. He didn’t trust the earl not to do his best to use these four weeks to scupper Eliot’s hopes.
Chapter 9
While he mightn’t trust his father to keep his promise, Eliot was a man of his word. For the next week, he retired to his estate in Wiltshire. If he said that he’d stay away from Verena until Imogen and Halston’s engagement became official, he would. Which consigned him to a run of sleepless nights, while his imagination ran amok, picturing her with another man in her bed. Usually that scoundrel Shelburn.
Even worse, none of his copious correspondence was the chatty, gossiping kind. While every day, he received a pile of letters detailing parliamentary business, he didn’t hear a whisper about whether Lady Verena Gerard had taken a new lover.
Eventually, the agony of not knowing outweighed the agony of being in Verena’s presence, but unable to claim her. He returned to Town.
He called on Imogen, who as yet wasn’t betrothed to Lord Halston. For once, he managed to talk to her alone without Stella being there. Stella was out of sorts and had retired to her room with a headache. Even better, his overbearing father was out. Deerforth always dominated the conversation.
To Eliot’s surprise, when he asked about Halston, Imogen didn’t react like a girl in love. Instead, she responded with some amusing tales about the house party and how much she’d enjoyed it. In fact, she waxed much more lyrical about the grounds of Prestwick Place than she did about its owner. Then she and Eliot went on to speak of other things.
If an engagement was likely before the month was up, he saw no sign of it. Imogen was her usual self. Bright. Funny. Sweet. Could it be that the interest was all on Halston’s side?
Puzzled, he left his sister and prepared to join some friends at the opera. But the caterwauling singers and the illogical plot couldn’t hold his attention.
Even then, he still had no idea whether Verena had moved onto a new paramour. Eliot’s usual crowd were much readier to talk party politics than society tattle about who was sleeping with whom. If he hadn’t promised his father to keep his interest in Verena out of public view, he might have aske
d.
After the first interval, he left the theater, blue-deviled and restless. Eliot hoped to hell that Halston and Imogen soon made their connection official, or he’d be a complete wreck.
His rooms were only a short walk away. Perhaps some fresh air would settle him enough to sleep. Not that he’d wager a groat on that happening. Since his debacle of a proposal, sleep had become a stranger.
He had a grim feeling that he’d spend tonight the way he’d spent every night over the past three weeks. Staring into a glass filled with brandy that he had no real interest in drinking.
After Verena had refused him, he’d tried seeking oblivion in alcohol, but neither his liver nor his generally sober tastes allowed him any solace. In fact, the idea of sinking into more lonely self-pity was so unappealing right now that he walked past the Albany and up toward Green Park. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was heading for Verena’s house in Half Moon Street.
Not that mooching about on the street would offer relief for either his curiosity or his longing. She wouldn’t let him in, even if she was home, which at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night at the height of the season wasn’t likely.
Sick of himself, sick of the world, sick of being without the one woman who made sense of his life, he was wandering along Piccadilly with the dark expanse of the park on one side when a carriage pulled up beside him. Without turning to look, he hoped to Hades that it wasn’t someone wanting a conversation. Pretending he hadn’t noticed, he started to walk a little faster.
The carriage rolled forward, and he heard a door click open behind him. Damn it, he’d have to summon up some manners, when all he wanted was the chance to be alone to nurse his heartache.
No, that wasn’t quite accurate, and he was a man with a reputation for sticking to the truth, however unpalatable. All he wanted was Verena back. To his eternal regret, that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.
The urge to disappear into the shadows was almost overwhelming, but for twenty-nine years, he’d been trained to be a gentleman. So he stopped and turned around and struggled to assume an expression of polite interest. He didn’t expect trouble. The carriage was expensive and drawn by the sort of blood stock that the average street thug didn’t aspire to own.
“Eliot?”
His irritation vanished as if it had never been. His knees turned to water, and the breath jammed in his throat. On unsteady legs, he took a step forward to where the door stood open in welcome. Dear God above, let it be in welcome.
“Verena?” He leaned in to peer inside. She didn’t have the lamps on inside the vehicle, so the interior was dim. But the lights on the exterior lent enough illumination for him to catch the gleam of her eyes and the glitter of diamonds at her throat and dangling from her earlobes. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Her gesture was visible through the gloom, thanks to her long white satin glove. To his surprise, the movement conveyed a weariness that mirrored his own. “I live around the corner.”
As if he’d forgotten that. He even smiled with no hint of sourness, when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done such a thing. “I know, but it’s so early.”
At least in society terms. Most balls didn’t start until ten and went through until several hours after midnight. People who dedicated themselves to the season turned into nocturnal creatures.
“I went to the Plunket ball, but it was all just the same people doing the same thing, so I decided to come home. What about you?”
More surprise flooded him, not least because this was the friendliest that she’d sounded since she’d finished with him. But also because Lady Verena Gerard was an essential component of London’s dazzling social whirl. Since her husband’s death, she’d seized every opportunity for entertainment. She was more likely to be dancing until dawn than traveling home alone, just as the beau monde stepped out on display.
Alone? Did that mean anything?
Unfortunately he doubted it. Lady Verena might take a lover if she fancied him, but she slept by herself. Eliot had never spent the night at her house.
He summoned up an answer to her question. Anything to keep her here. “I was at the opera.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
“No.” He hadn’t enjoyed much at all since she’d broken with him. “Horrid load of drivel.”
“You sound rather down in the dumps.”
“So do you.” Which was odd, because even when Verena wasn’t herself, she always did her best to hide it. He imagined that she’d learned to hide a lot of things during her marriage to that brute George Gerard.
A silence fell, broken only when her horses whickered and shifted, making the harness jingle. The coachman said a quiet word to calm them. It reminded Eliot that he should let her go, even if she didn’t seem in any hurry to move on.
“Your horses won’t like standing,” he said, not wanting her to leave, but not sure how to detain her. His skin ached with the need to touch her. All the warmth in the world lived with Verena. Since he’d been without her, his days had been so cold.
He waited for her to close the door and order her driver to proceed. But she made no move to finish their meeting. “I haven’t seen you lately.”
Surprise turned to astonishment. Could she have missed him? “I’ve been down at Trentham Hall.”
“The country must be lovely right now.”
The wistful note in her voice left him even more confused. Verena’s marriage settlement had granted her a small estate in Devon, which she never visited, as far as Eliot knew. She was made for urban delights.
“Yes, it is,” he said, although if he admitted the truth, he’d hardly noticed the glories of spring. He’d been focused on an inner landscape that encompassed nothing but beige.
“Get in,” she murmured, which struck him as the most astounding thing she’d said yet.
He straightened. “The Albany is out of your way.”
Her low laugh was a bitter reminder of how easy they’d once been with each other. “I’m going home.”
Discontentment gnawed at him. Why the devil couldn’t they be together now? They’d been so perfect.
“I know you were on…” He hesitated, in part because his heart slammed against his ribs so hard that it stole his ability to speak. Did she – could she – be saying what he thought she did?
Surely not. For weeks, she’d done nothing but avoid him. But if she relented, be damned if he’d miss out because of pride or a lack of nerve.
Nonetheless, the risk of asking, only to receive another rebuff turned his voice toneless as he phrased the question. Because he had to be prepared to hear her say no. When it came to handling her, he’d already been wrong so many times. “Are you asking me to come back to your house with you, Verena?”
He felt her studying him from inside the carriage. “Would you like to?”
He’d sell his soul for the chance. But he wanted to make sure that he understood. “Yes, I would. Do you wish to talk to me?”
“I imagine there might be some talking involved.”
“And other things?” For days, heavy chains had encased his heart. Now his heart broke free and started to race with an excitement that contained a powerful dose of hope.
“Get in the carriage, Eliot. You know you want to.” Her voice held an irritable fondness that sounded sweeter than any of the yowling singers he’d heard at tonight’s opera. “For pity’s sake, what are you waiting for, you great dunderhead?”
By God, he was a dunderhead. He’d wanted to see Verena, and here she was. Even better, just at this moment, she didn’t seem to hate him.
He climbed inside and shut the door behind him as he sat down opposite her. She rapped on the roof, and the carriage lurched into movement.
“I thought you never wanted to see me again,” he said somberly, wishing there was enough light to read her expression.
“I didn’t.” She snatched a shaky breath. “But mad as it is, I’ve missed you. I’ve even missed you dog
ging my footsteps and scowling at me whenever I smile at another man.”
“I don’t like you smiling at other men, when you have no smiles for me.”
“I feared you might have forgotten me when you no longer appeared at my elbow every time I turned around.”
“Forget you?” His laugh was hollow. “I’ll be a dead man before that happens. Even then, I suspect I’ll come back to haunt you.”
It was true, but he didn’t go on to mention how much he loved her. He didn’t want to risk her tossing him out on the cobbles, at least not until he’d had a chance to remind her how good they were together.
Eliot waited for her to dismiss his answer, but she remained silent. He didn’t speak again either, partly because there was too much to say and they were only yards from her house. Partly because of late, everything that he said to her just seemed to drive her further away.
He intended to tread with care to make sure that he didn’t bugger things up. Fate had provided him with a miracle. Verena was here. Tonight, he’d take her in his arms again.
Anticipation spiced his blood. She’d invited him back to her bed. Surely he hadn’t got that wrong. He’d missed everything about Verena, her touch, her scent, the sound of her voice, the way the world only felt the right way up when he was with her.
But while he made a pretense of being a civilized man, it wasn’t the entire truth. He’d also missed thrusting into that glorious body and feeling her clench tight around him when she reached her peak. He loved her soul, but he loved the earthy reality of her, too.
With a bit of luck, a dose of earthy reality awaited tonight. God – or the devil – be praised.
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop in front of Verena’s tall white house. Eliot was accustomed to sneaking in through the garden when he visited for sinful purposes. Entering the building through the front door held an intriguing touch of the forbidden.
A footman ran down to open the carriage door and hand Verena to the pavement. Eliot climbed out after her, his heart racing with excitement and a powerful dose of gratitude. He hadn’t been sure that he’d ever find a welcome in this house again. Now he was here at Verena’s invitation and looking forward to taking her to bed.
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