A Lady's Deception Page 6

  On the bottom of the invitation, Cass had written, Eleanor and her parents will be there. C. He pondered over the reason why Eleanor would be in Town, then recalled she’d said she had London clients. Hugh didn’t relish seeing Broxton and his wife. Would Eleanor’s father treat Hugh any differently now that he’d been awarded a knighthood? He doubted it. Broxton still outranked him, since he was a baronet. Hugh recalled Eleanor’s mother from the house party, where she’d acted as chaperone. In his memory, she was a thin, humorless sort of woman. Perhaps that assessment was unfair. He’d not spoken more than a few words to her, nor she to him.

  A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, enter.”

  Ned Martin stuck his head in. “Can you spare a minute, Sir Hugh?”

  Hugh had given up on getting the man to drop the honorific. Clearly, Ned felt more comfortable calling him Sir Hugh, as the laborers did. Hugh pointed to the only chair. “Sit down, Ned. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you come over to the site? Deliveries are starting to arrive. Bricks, the stone from Sussex, even glass for your sash windows. We need to sort out where to put everything. And to rig up something to protect all of it from the elements.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I finish up some correspondence. You shouldn’t have to see to things at the building site. That’s my job.”

  Ned flushed, and Hugh regretted his words. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I want you to start visiting tenants.” He scratched at the stubble on his face. “In fact, we should do that together. Let’s take care of the deliveries, and then we’ll ride out to survey the land and begin seeing tenants.”

  “I’ve already done some surveying and I’ve been jotting notes. We could go over them together when you’ve got time.”

  Hugh sighed. Suddenly it seemed there was much more to oversee than he had the time for. “I need to post a letter in Town and pick up today’s food before I do anything else. But we’ll get started as soon as I return.”

  “I could do that for you.”

  While Hugh was thinking it over, Ned said, “It would give you time to organize things at the building site. When I’m back, we can head for the farms.”

  Hugh gave a decisive nod. Why not? The daily trip to Town was becoming tiresome, and if Ned was willing to help with that, well, he wouldn’t look an eager gift horse in the mouth. “Give me five minutes to write a brief note. I’ll see you at the site.”

  Ned left, but Hugh delayed, ruminating. After a moment, he composed a brief missive accepting the invitation.

  …

  Wednesday, the following week

  Hugh, keen for a speedy ride to Town, drove there in a rented curricle and found lodgings not far from Deborah’s townhouse. Knowing Adam would be out on Parliamentary business, Hugh paid a call on Cass. The last few weeks, whenever he thought about the evening he’d spent with his brother and sister-in-law, and how it had ended with him losing his temper and shouting loud enough for the entire household to hear, he was ashamed. Not of his feelings; they were right and defensible. But he should have kept himself under control. If there was anything the military had taught him—as well as years of living with his father—it was that. He wished to apologize.

  “Sir Hugh,” the butler greeted him. “It’s good to see you. I’ll tell Mrs. Grey you’re here.”

  “Thank you, Flynn. Is my mother at home?”

  “No, Sir Hugh. She is out making calls.”

  He felt a guilty sense of relief. “Shall I go up to the drawing room?”

  “Certainly, sir. You know the way.”

  Hugh waited only a few moments until Cass joined him. “Hugh! I’m so glad to see you.” If she were angry about the outburst he’d subjected everyone to on his earlier visit, she’d chosen to overlook it. “We’re delighted you accepted our invitation for the dinner party.” She pointed to the sofa. “Please, be seated. I’ve ordered tea.”

  Hugh sat, and when she was settled, he said, “Cass, you have my heartfelt apologies for my ill temper when I was last here. I-I don’t know what came over me. It was unpardonably rude.”

  “Oh, rubbish. You were upset. You didn’t wake Kit, so no harm was done. That’s all we mothers care about, you know.”

  Hugh smiled. “You are very gracious, Cass. I don’t deserve it.”

  “Perhaps there is a way you can get back in my good graces.”

  Hugh stiffened and hoped she hadn’t noticed. He knew what was coming. “And that is?”

  “Give your brother, and most especially Deborah, a chance. Let them back into your life, even just a little.”

  Irritated, Hugh was determined not to show it. “I can’t do that. Not now. Maybe never.” Even as he spoke the words, regret welled. For the loss of the family he might have been close to, if things were different.

  “Why not?” Fortunately, the tea tray arrived, giving him a few moments to compose a response. He needed to choose his words carefully. Cass fixed a plate of sandwiches and cakes for him, neither of which he wanted. He doubted he could swallow anything other than a liquid, and brandy would be a hell of a lot better than tea. Cass surveyed him expectantly over the rim of her cup.

  “There’s a history between me and my brother and mother. Whatever Adam has told you about it is from his perspective. Not mine.”

  “Will you explain your perspective, then, so I might understand?”

  He gulped down some tea and got to his feet. “Forgive me, but it’s not something I care to rehash. Can it not suffice for me to say I wish things were different? But I fear it is too late for that.”

  Cass gazed up at him, and he saw, to his consternation, pity in her eyes. And just when he thought his facade of cool indifference might crack, the door opened, and Eleanor Broxton stepped through. She must have recognized the tension that hung heavily between him and Cass, because she said, “I am so sorry for interrupting. I didn’t know you were here, Sir Hugh.” She turned to exit, but Hugh stopped her.

  “Miss Broxton, please don’t leave. Join us.”

  She looked at Cass, who obligingly said, “By all means, Eleanor, do sit down and drink tea with us. How nice to have you both here.” She looked so pleased with herself, Hugh almost laughed.

  He resumed his seat, keeping his eyes on Eleanor. She was lovely. Strands of her hair, piled loosely on top of her head, had broken free and brushed her face and neck. Although she wore a more modest dress, with a chemisette covering her chest, he could still envision the way her breasts had practically burst from the gown she was wearing the last time he’d seen her. And that perfect mouth he’d love to ravish with his own.

  “Hugh?” Cass said. “Eleanor asked you a question.” Her voice held a hint of amusement. Devil take it, he’d been staring.

  “My pardon. What did you say, Miss Broxton?”

  She chuckled. “Nothing of any import. What brings you to Town?” She gazed at him over the rim of her teacup.

  “The dinner party.”

  “I see.” She shot Cass a suspicious look. This was beginning to be fun.

  “And you?” Hugh asked.

  “To see my London clients and visit the shops. Cass and your brother were kind enough to invite me and my parents to the dinner party, also.”

  Hugh looked from one to the other. Impulsively, he said, “Would you ladies be interested in a ride around Hyde Park? We should take advantage of the beautiful weather.”

  “An inspired idea! Don’t you agree, Eleanor? Give us a minute to get our bonnets.”

  As if on cue, a maid entered and spoke to Cass. “Kit has woken up from his nap, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you. Pray go without me.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Eleanor said. “I’d need a chaperone.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll be in full view of half the ton.”

  Hugh had the distinct impression that Eleanor would have preferred to decline, but now she was trapped. He was on the verge of saying, “Some other time,” when she excused herself to retriev
e her bonnet and said she would meet him in the entryway.

  …

  Hugh was waiting for Eleanor at the front door. When he offered his arm, his smile was so disarming her reluctance to be alone with him evaporated, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. The curricle waited out front. “We couldn’t all three have fit into your curricle, Sir Hugh.” But she wasn’t angry, or even annoyed. It was too lovely a day, and she had never ridden around Hyde Park with a gentleman before. For a little while, at least, she would try to forget her vow to keep him at arm’s length and simply enjoy herself.

  “You have me there,” he said, smiling. “I’m certain Cass would have offered their carriage if she’d been able to join us.”

  While the groom held the horses, he lifted her by the waist onto the seat as though she were weightless, then climbed up beside her. She watched him, which might have been a mistake. Before he sat, his thighs were at eye level, and his form-fitting breeches left nothing to the imagination, especially since she’d recently seen him naked. Oh God. Even thinking about that day caused her cheeks to warm, and she quickly looked away. When he was finally seated and they were under way, his leg pressed against hers and sent jolts of pleasure through her. It wasn’t desire. Of course it is desire.

  Hugh was threading his way through late afternoon traffic. It would help get her mind off his physical presence if they could talk, but she didn’t want to distract him at present. Finally, the traffic eased, and it seemed safe to speak.

  “I haven’t thanked you for the basket of food you left for me. I’d had a particularly…difficult day and hadn’t eaten a bite since breakfast, so it was most welcome.”

  “I offended you. It was a small offering to make it up to you. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead. Eleanor made no response to that, because his assessment was largely correct. “Has your trip been a successful one, Eleanor?”

  “That depends on what you mean by successful.”

  He smiled, and she noticed the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. From laughing? Most likely from too much sun. “By your definition of the word…”

  Why was she being difficult? Just answer the man. “I’ve seen three clients thus far. Lady Sheffield was put out with me because I neither design nor sew lingerie or stays. In her opinion, any milliner worth her salt makes every bit of apparel in a lady’s wardrobe.”

  Hugh laughed out loud. “My pardon, but I was picturing Lady Sheffield. There is, er, an ample amount there to contain. She could keep a corset maker in business.”

  Eleanor smiled, wanted to laugh. “You’re right about that.”

  “So you’re at a stand?”

  “I think it’s sorted out. I recommended several seamstresses to her who make stays. Even though she will be ‘vastly inconvenienced’ by having to visit one of them, she likes my designs and will keep on buying my gowns.”

  “Excellent. And the other two ladies?”

  “One is very enthusiastic. She wants me to design ball gowns for two of her daughters. The elder is making her come-out this year. The third lady hasn’t paid me for numerous items I made over the past several months, so I was forced to tell her I could no longer afford to dress her.”

  “Hmm. I could call her husband out, if you’d like.”

  Eleanor laughed, dragging her eyes away from his mouth. “She’s a widow, and I don’t think she had much of a jointure. I am sorry for her, but I can’t continue to do the work without receiving any money.”

  They entered the park, and Hugh turned his attention back to the ribbons. When she stole a glance at his face, he was frowning in concentration, busy jockeying for position. As they proceeded around the perimeter, he nodded at people now and then, and more than one fashionable belle of the ton stared at him. Ladies strolled arm in arm, showing off their finery. Eleanor couldn’t help casting a critical eye on their walking dresses. Slightly too long. Color too subdued or too garish. Too much bosom showing for afternoon wear. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that there were, however, many beautifully designed dresses on display.

  When they reached the Serpentine, Hugh pulled the curricle over. “I’m going to see if I can find a lad to hold the horses while we stroll a bit.”

  He was back in a few minutes with a young boy who seemed eager to do the job. Hugh handed him the reins, and the boy said, “Thanks, guv’nor,” a huge smile breaking over his face.

  After Hugh helped her down, they set out on the path. His hands were clasped behind his back, pulling his coat tight across his broad chest. Out of the blue, he said, “Why do you work so hard, Eleanor?”

  She hadn’t anticipated that question from him, although she’d answered it before. Locals asked her frequently, including her own friends and those of her parents. He was watching her intently, waiting for a response. “I wish to have a life apart from my mother and father.”

  “And couldn’t you achieve that by marrying, as other ladies do?”

  Resolutely, she turned her gaze forward. If she looked at him straight on, he’d know she was lying. Or leaving something out. A disquieting way to think about adorable, sweet Lili. A “something.”

  “Shouldn’t one have a purpose in life other than marriage? Men do, after all.”

  “Many women would disagree with you. They would say marriage and children are their purpose.”

  “Aren’t there an equal number of women who, if they truly had a choice, would choose not to wed? Marriage is often an escape from one dire situation and a leap into another every bit as grim.”

  “You have a poor opinion of matrimony.”

  She shrugged, unwilling to go that far.

  “If you so desired, you would not lack suitors, Eleanor.” When she didn’t comment, he said, “Did you ever have a come-out?”

  “No. No, I did not. Tucked away in Surrey, why would I?”

  “Many girls who live in the country come up to Town to make their bow. It’s an opportunity to meet eligible men. I’m surprised your parents wouldn’t have wanted that for you.”

  Why in blazes was he so concerned about her social life? “My mother thought I was too young, and then I…I lost interest.”

  “Why?”

  Because I was carrying your child.

  This was beginning to feel like the Inquisition. And what was it leading to? “What difference does it make? Perhaps I felt it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  “But—”

  “Could we talk of something else? Tell me about the wilds of British North America. What was it like there? Did you encounter any natives?”

  “Everybody asks that. Why, I wonder?”

  “Something strange and new to us. Exotic.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Natives of the Mohawk tribe, and by English reckoning, they were exotic, I suppose. Paint. Feathers. Scary hair.” He chuckled at her expression. “I didn’t have much reason to consort with them, except on one occasion. My work was mostly with British officers, French Canadians, and Scottish immigrants.”

  They walked on, taking their time. “What did you do there?”

  “I acted as liaison between the Governor-General of Canada, Sir George Prevost, and Whitehall.”

  She cocked her head and gave him an astonished look. “That sounds so…important, for lack of a better word.”

  “Not really. It was nine parts frustration and one part actually accomplishing something meaningful.”

  “And what was that one occasion you mentioned, when you did consort with the natives?” Eleanor’s gaze was on Hugh when a couple of young bucks on horseback appeared out of nowhere, riding neck-or-nothing toward them. They were racing, oblivious to anyone who might be in their path. Frozen with fear, she stood rooted to the spot, quite unable to move.

  “Eleanor!” Hugh called, just before shoving her off the path. She slammed into the ground, the breath whooshing out of her. Hugh shouted, “Ho, there, you idiots! Slow your horses!”

  T
he next thing she knew he was hunkered down beside her. She’d broken her fall with the palms of her hands, her left side absorbing most of the blow. “Are you all right?” His large hands encircled her waist, lifting her into a sitting position. He lowered himself to the ground next to her, and then his arm circled around her shoulder. Still short of breath, she did not respond immediately. Her bonnet had been knocked askew, and she pulled it off.

  “Eleanor?” He sounded worried.

  “Yes, yes. It’s just that I can’t…breathe…quite yet.” And then she felt the seductive touch of his fingers moving in circles on her upper back. His thumb scraped across the bare skin of her neck, sending stabs of pleasure pulsing through her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Shamelessly, she said, “My shoulder. I think I’ve injured it.” She was hoping, praying really, that he would stroke across her shoulder and down her bare arm. Instead, he rose, walked around to her other side, and squatted down.

  “May I?”

  She nodded, fully aware she’d let him do almost anything he chose right now. He grasped her arm and gently moved it forward and back. She kept her eyes fastened on him, and then, “Yeow!” Had she truly howled like a cat?

  “Forgive me for hurting you. I’d better get you home. Your shoulder bore the brunt of your fall, though it doesn’t seem to be dislocated.”

  While Hugh retrieved the curricle, she gradually emerged from her cocoon of pleasure. An injured shoulder would not bode well for sewing. On his return, Hugh helped her rise, then gathered her in his arms and set her gently on the seat. As though she were something precious. How different their lives might have been if Hugh hadn’t gone to Canada. When she had learned she was with child, Hugh would have offered her marriage; she did not doubt that. They would be raising Lili together.