“Does this happen often?” she asked, her voice softening.
There was that blasted sympathy back in her blue eyes. “No, not often. We don’t go out into polite society enough for it to happen often.”
“I see.”
And yes, of course she saw. She saw that he was shunned. She saw that he was belittled. She saw that he was someone she should not be in association with. He shoved the handkerchief toward her. For some reason he no longer wanted her here.
“Why did you follow me?” he asked, despite himself.
Even under the dim light of the lanterns he could see her flush. “I… I…”
Slowly, James stood. “You could very well have ruined your reputation. In fact, you still could.”
“I know.” She stood, tucking the bloodied handkerchief into her cleavage, right where her heart beat. James swallowed hard, his chest feeling suddenly tight. She did not cringe over the dirty linen, she did not toss it aside, but pressed it there… close to her delicate breastbone. “It was stupid.”
“Indeed.”
She frowned, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I just… couldn’t let them beat you to a pulp, you know.”
She still hadn’t answered his question. He worked his jaw, rolling it around and around, attempting to ease the ache, attempting to understand the confusing and tumultuous emotions that swirled within. “Yes, but why are you here?”
He didn’t know why he asked, and perhaps he would regret the question, but the words slipped from his split lips before he could take them back. She looked away, gazing toward the windows alight with lanterns from the party. Guests danced and flirted, completely unaware that they were being watched. Once again he was on the outside, but she was there with him this time.
“I merely wanted a chance to talk to you.”
The sudden murmur of kitchen maids caught them both off guard. Lady Beckett glanced toward the kitchen. He could sense her unease. Part of him wished she would just go and leave him be already; part of him wanted her to stay forever. Although she could be caught at any moment… she remained.
“What is it?” he asked warily.
She boldly met his gaze. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like a meeting with you.”
His heart slammed wildly in his chest as sinful images flashed to mind. This woman’s long, pale limbs wrapped around him, her naked body writhing underneath, her gentle moans tickling his ear. A heated flush of desire pierced his groin.
“I see.” He was surprised and, yes, bloody well interested in the prospect. The night was suddenly looking much brighter, the world a better place. “When?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Thursday next. Three o’clock.”
It was all so formal. Yes, it had always been formal, a basic business transaction. But for some reason he didn’t want to do business with her. He merely wanted… her. He wanted to see the coldness melt from her eyes, wanted to hear her moan his name.
“Well?” she asked, her voice a breathless, husky whisper of excitement and nerves.
“I’ll pencil you in,” he said dryly.
She tilted her chin high, that ice goddess back. His mockery had not gone unnoticed. “Good.”
James was suddenly tired. So very tired of it all. He sank back onto the crate. He didn’t want to think over his troubling emotions. He didn’t want to contemplate Lady Beckett’s interest. Perhaps he should start drinking to numb it all, as Gideon was prone to do. “You best return now.”
“Of course.” But she remained. There, in that back garden between the kitchen plants and the roses, she paused, her cool façade slipping away and worry taking its place. “You’ll be all right?”
“Fine,” he snapped a little too harshly.
She nodded. Biting her lower lip, she turned and fled toward the back balcony, the swishing of her skirts the only sound in the quiet night. For one long moment he merely stood there, staring at the doors where she’d disappeared inside. Had her entire presence been a dream? No, he could still smell her rose perfume surrounding him, or maybe that was merely the garden.
He followed her path as quickly as his aching body would allow, moving up the shallow staircase even though every step hurt. Through the windows he watched the wealthiest of London. Inside, the crowds had swelled but he found her moving elegantly along the outskirts of the ballroom. She belonged there, with them. Wealthy, titled, acceptable.
“James?”
Startled, he turned to face Lady Lavender. And he belonged with Ophelia, hidden away from polite society.
She lifted the hem of her skirts and started up the staircase. “Are you all right?”
He met her halfway, eager to be done with the night. “I’ll heal.”
Catching sight of him, she gasped. “Oh dear.” She gently gripped his chin, tilting his head toward the lantern light much like Lady Beckett had done only moments ago. But whereas her touch had been one of sympathy, Ophelia was merely making sure her property was not ruined.
“What have they done to your beautiful face? Bastards.”
He smiled, although it hurt. Aye, he might not trust her, but he belonged with Ophelia; he sure as hell didn’t belong here. “Indeed.”
She sighed, releasing her hold and slipping her arm through his. “Best if we left.”
“Very well.” He led her down the steps and toward the front of the house. It was over. His brief jaunt into cultured society had not been met with success. It was only a harsh reminder that he fit in nowhere, and never would.
Chapter 4
Eleanor waited impatiently in a small parlor, staring unblinkingly at the pretty French wallpaper with the little birds. Expensive, hand painted, and it was lost on her. She’d been sitting there a good ten minutes, if the porcelain clock on the mantel kept accurate time. But she did not think about the wallpaper, she did not think about her husband or family, nor did she think about her reputation. She thought only of James.
When she closed her eyes at night, she saw only James’s bloody face. She smoothed her gloved hands over the dark green dress she wore, a color that matched James’s eyes. A simple day gown with a jaunty black bow at her neckline and piping around the sleeves. A dress that would not identify her as the fashionable Lady Beckett.
They had beaten him, and if she hadn’t noticed when he’d left the ballroom, if she hadn’t followed, if she hadn’t sent the footman outside when she had… they could have greatly injured him, or worse. And if London uncovered the fact that she had been there, in the garden with him, her life would be destroyed. Yet it didn’t seem to matter to her.
Here she sat… waiting. Waiting for a man she couldn’t stop thinking about, and all because of his kind, warm eyes and his bold and gentle touch. The door creaked open. Her entire body came alert, but she didn’t dare turn. She knew who stood there. Somehow, in some way, she could sense him.
“You’ve returned?” He sounded only mildly surprised.
Did he care? Was he attracted to her as she was to him? Or was she merely another woman within a long line of many? She wouldn’t even think about the others he’d satisfied. Besides, surely her husband had slept with just as many, yet ladies found him utterly rakish and charming.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I have.”
“To check on my welfare?”
She stood and turned to face him fully. No hiding. No silly games. “No.”
He paused halfway across the room. His black trousers, white shirtsleeves, and brown waistcoat fit his trim body to perfection. He could have been a lord; he could have been a country gent. He was neither, but for this moment, this next hour, he was hers. She studied the faded bruises that marred his otherwise perfect face, hoping to see some sort of happiness. His gaze remained stubbornly guarded.
“I see,” was his only response.
How she wished she knew what he was thinking. “Are you well?”
He gave her a brief smile. “I’m fine.”
For a long moment neither of them
spoke. He was waiting for her explanation; she was waiting for the nerve to speak. “There are conditions… that is, if we are to further this relationship.”
He took a step closer. “Yes?”
She licked her suddenly dry lips and paced in front of the fireplace. He made her nervous. For years, she’d wished only for the truth, honesty. Now she had it with James. There was no pretense between them, only mutual understanding, mutual need. She craved his honesty, yet it frightened her. “I wish to go slow.”
“Courtly love? Candlelight? Chocolates?”
She frowned, wondering briefly if he mocked her but deciding she didn’t care. Before she could continue with her list of demands, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She drew up short, staring first at the fine linen of his waistcoat, and then farther to his square jaw. The dark scruff that covered his lower face was most likely there to hide the bruises, but it only added to his appeal. No longer did he look the lad. Her gaze fluttered to his lips, up farther to his green eyes. No, he was no lad. He was a man, a beautiful, healthy male who knew how to please her in more ways than most.
He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
It was a command. She hesitated only a moment, then slid her fingers around his. It did not matter that she wore gloves, she could feel the heat of his skin even through the leather. With a gentle tug, he started toward the door, leading her slowly into the foyer. She didn’t bother to lower the netting on her bonnet.
Her heart thumped heavily against her ribs. Her knees practically buckled when her foot hit the first step. Would the guilt keep her up at night? Come morning, would she regret her decision? Up the stairs he led her, to where she knew her life would change forever. The entire world seemed to stand still; even her breath paused. She could hear the soft murmur of words and moans from behind closed doors, almost like an erotic dream. Instead of being embarrassed, the heated flush that swept through her body was something entirely different.
Desire.
She pressed her hand to her lower belly, attempting to calm the flutter of nerves. As if sensing her unease, James slid his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Did he keep her there for support or to prevent her from fleeing as she had last time? Side by side, they fit perfectly together. She could know the same passion that was being experienced in those rooms. She would.
He paused outside a door and glanced down at her. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door, revealing a room of rich green hues that matched his eyes. A pleasant room. The sort of bedchamber that a titled gent might own. But she knew what that perfectly elegant room represented… a den of sin, lust, carnal need. James watched her with an intensity that frightened her as much as it stirred her longing. He wanted her, but he was waiting for her to proceed.
Sinful.
The word whispered through her mind over and over, with each step into his room she took. She tore her gaze from James. She ignored the voice, ignored the feelings of guilt that swirled low, churning within her gut. Done. She was done being the scorned wife. Done watching her husband entertain mistress after mistress while she stood helplessly by.
She tilted her chin and moved elegantly around the room, surveying what would be her quarters for the next hour. “ ’Tis lovely.”
A warm fire burned in the hearth of a marble fireplace. A four-poster bed with a dark green coverlet stood against the far wall. Red roses were in a vase upon a bedside table. It was beautiful, warm, seductive, and inviting. It was everything she had expected when she was a young innocent searching for romance, a romance that had been a myth until now. But she supposed in its own way this was not real, considering she was paying for everything. She felt James come up behind her.
Oh dear Lord. She was paying him. She was paying a whore. What those men had done to James in the Rutherford’s courtyard would be nothing compared to what would happen to her if anyone uncovered her secret.
Sinner.
No! Damn it all, she was tired of the numbness, tired of the lack of love and passion. Tired of waiting day after day to die. This was the moment… the moment she would change her life… the moment she would stop living for others and live for herself.
She didn’t care. Did not bloody care.
Determined, she spun around, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed James. She felt him lean back, shutting his door, heard the gentle click of the lock, but she didn’t break her hold. He rested his hands on her hips and drew her up closer to his hard body. She wanted to forget, merely wanted to feel. Eleanor shoved her tongue into his mouth in a kiss of sheer determination. But James, the man she was paying to love her, pushed her back.
“Wait,” he said breathlessly. “Slow down.”
A fiery path of humiliation raced to her cheeks. She’d been rejected by a whore. Why not? Her own husband hadn’t wanted her, not really. He’d only wanted her family’s fortune and a beautiful, docile wife to get with child, a woman to control.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He clenched his jaw hard. She’d never quite seen him so angry. Not even while fighting the men in the garden. No, in the garden he’d seemed resigned, almost welcomed the pain they caused. “I want you.”
He took her hand and pressed it boldly to the front of his trousers. The hard length of his erection met her palm. Shocked, Eleanor didn’t dare move. Her breath caught in her throat as desperate need raced through her body.
“Then take me,” she said harshly.
He released his hold. “Not yet. You asked for passion. You asked for romance.”
“And women always get what they pay for?”
He slid her a wry glance, making her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Very well.” She turned away from him, staring moodily into the fireplace. Why did she always have to turn sarcastic and shrewish when confronted? Confused, unsure, she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling very much alone. “Shall you feed me chocolates?”
Warm fingers brushed the back of her neck. She hadn’t even heard him approach. Eleanor trembled, closing her eyes. She’d noticed that about him… that he moved as silently and stealthily as a cat. A thief in the night. Unable to stop herself, she sank into his hard body, his chest warm and strong against her back. For one brief moment she savored the feel of being held, supported.
“Romance, yes?” he whispered against her ear.
She gave a jerky nod of her head. Why not? She hadn’t had romance in years. It might prove entertaining. His fingers trailed down her neck, over her shoulders, brushing the area above her clavicles and undoing the jaunty bow of her bonnet. He tugged the hat free, the weight gone, and although she wore a gown and undergarments, she felt oddly naked.
“ ’Tis a lovely room,” she said, her voice husky. Lord, had she already given the compliment? It was hard to remember, hard to think when his fingers were lightly massaging her shoulders and neck, pulling her into a deep and seductive haze.
“Thank you.” Suddenly he stepped away, leaving her feeling off-balance. She didn’t dare glance back to see where he went. Looking back would show she cared. Caring made one vulnerable, and she’d learned very early on in her marriage that showing vulnerability made one weak. Hell, James made her weak.
“Sherry? Wine?”
“Brandy.”
From the corner of her eye she saw his smile as he moved to the sideboard, a small table with a marble top covered with shimmering crystalline decanters. He was all ease and elegance as he poured the drink, then started back toward her.
It was only as she turned to take the offering that she realized he’d rid himself of his waistcoat and wore only his shirtsleeves and trousers. Dear Lord, it was truly happening. Her pulse flickered an unsteady beat. She snatched the drink from his hand and took a gulp. The fiery spirit caught her by surprise, tearing the air from her body and making her cough.
“Careful,” he said, no mockery, only concern in his eyes.
The room spun. Pe
rhaps she should have asked for wine. “Th… thank you.”
He took the glass and set it on the side table. “There is nothing to be nervous about.”
She nodded. Why were there two of him? “I’m not nervous.” It was a lie and they both knew it. What had happened to her perfectly controlled façade? She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Perhaps she shouldn’t have drunk that sherry Lady Lavender had offered when she’d first arrived.
“I do what you wish.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I stop when you wish. All you need to do is say so.”
Sinful.
She ignored the voice, determined to see this through. “Well then, shall we get started?”
He smiled softly at her, the sort of smile one would give an innocent who didn’t quite understand something important. Then again she supposed she was an innocent where the bedchamber was concerned. Oh, she’d heard women wax on about the passion one could find in the arms of a practiced man, but she’d assumed they were merely exaggerated stories.
James reached out and took her hand, his fingers slipping gently through hers. Palm to palm, he led her toward one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace. “Sit, please.”
The instinct to decline parted her lips. It was a fight deep within her that had been born when she’d married her husband. The only way to protect herself, to keep her dignity, had been to fight back when her husband demanded anything of her. But James was not Lord Beckett. No, James had kind, warm green eyes instead of black.
And so she settled upon the chair and watched him warily as he picked up a book from the fireplace mantel. She frowned. If he thought to read to her from the Marquis de Sade, she would throw her brandy in his face. She’d unfortunately found a volume by the author amongst other disgusting readings in her husband’s study when they’d been married only a year. The words and drawings had terrified her. He’d laughed at her unease, telling her that all men read the books.