A Lady's Deception Read online

While Eleanor was woolgathering, they exited Hyde Park. She didn’t even notice, until Hugh’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Feeling all right?”

  She smiled at the concern on his face. “It’s kind of you to worry, but I’ll be fine.”

  They made desultory conversation the remainder of the trip. Eleanor allowed herself a feeling of peace and contentment she rarely experienced.

  Chapter Six

  The next evening

  When Hugh entered the upstairs drawing room at his brother’s townhouse, the first person he saw was Eleanor. She simply stole his breath. Her gown was a pale green sheer confection, with a bodice that dipped into a V, and she’d woven tiny flowers through her hair. He could only gape. She glanced at him and smiled, then quickly looked away.

  The second person he noticed was his mother. Deborah. Of course, he’d known she would be present, but he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. Adam had broken loose from the group he’d been talking to and come over to greet him.

  “Brother,” he said, extending his hand. Hugh grasped it.

  “Adam.”

  Cass joined them, kissing Hugh’s cheek. He knew he should get it over with, the greeting of Deborah. He couldn’t very well ignore her. “Take me to my mother?” He looked at Cass and hoped she didn’t see the unease in his expression.

  She glanced at her husband, who nodded. “Of course. And then Adam will introduce you round to the others.”

  Cass steered him through the room. As he drew near to the group his mother was a part of, she glanced up and stepped to the side, so that she waited for him alone. She held out her hands, and what could he do but grasp them? “Hello, Deborah,” he said.

  She smiled, but he sensed her wariness. “It’s so good to see you, Hugh, back safe and sound. And ‘Sir Hugh’ now.”

  “Yes.” He let go of her hands, shocked that she still wore the same scent after so many years. Lemon verbena. She was as lovely as ever, even with graying hair and a web of fine wrinkles around her eyes.

  “Adam tells me you are rebuilding your father’s home.”

  “Yes. The actual building hasn’t begun yet, but it shouldn’t be long now. You are well?”

  “I am, aside from the usual complaints of one who is growing older.” When he made no response to that, she said, “Freddie and I have been traveling. More grandchildren, you know.”

  “Adam told me. And you’ve one of your own, right here.”

  Her face lit with joy. “You’ve met Kit? He’s delightful—reminds me so of Adam at the same age.” At that, her jaw clenched, as if she wished those words unsaid.

  Devil take it, did Deborah and Adam feel they must tread on eggshells around him? Hugh didn’t want that.

  And then Freddie interrupted, pumping Hugh’s hand, saying, “How are you, my boy? Nice to have you back,” as if they were old friends, when in fact he’d met the man just once before. Fortunately, Adam intervened.

  “I’d like to appropriate Hugh, if you don’t mind. There are people who wish to meet him.”

  Freddie said, with false joviality, “Of course, of course, old man. Go right ahead.” Deborah’s mouth drooped. Hugh was relieved that the first meeting with his mother had gone better than he’d expected. He and his brother spent the next several minutes talking to Adam’s allies in Commons, many of whom clapped Hugh on the back and congratulated him on the knighthood. Without being too obvious, he glanced Eleanor’s way whenever possible. The din of voices was beginning to wear on him. At length, Cass interrupted.

  “Darling, Jack and Jenny are waiting to greet your brother. And so are the Broxtons.”

  Jack, Lord Egerton, was Cass’s brother, and Jenny, his wife. Hugh shook hands with both. They’d barely gotten a few words out before Cass whisked him away again, escorting him toward the Broxtons. There was only one Broxton he gave a damn about seeing, but it appeared he would be required to meet Sir William and his wife as well. The people from whom Eleanor was so eager to remove herself.

  …

  At various times since Hugh’s arrival, Eleanor had felt his gaze on her. For the sake of her sanity, she did not reciprocate. But it was hell pretending to be interested in the various conversations going on around her and forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed on the speaker. She so desperately wanted to look at Hugh, talk to Hugh, be with Hugh.

  Good God, Eleanor, you’re mooning over him like a besotted fool.

  She had to stay away from the man. If she let him get close, he would find out about Lili, and her tenuous control of the situation would collapse.

  But she did, at last, glance around the room, and spotted Cass coming her way with Hugh in tow. He wore black-and-white evening clothes, a cream waistcoat with small sapphire buttons his only nod to fashion. Good heavens, were those actual sapphires? His elegance was the kind she admired—understated and unaware. Perhaps Benjamin Grey had not been so penniless as everyone had believed, including her own father. Although she never understood why he would have any knowledge of the elder Grey’s finances.

  Hugh bowed to her mother. “Lady Broxton.”

  “Mr. Grey,” she responded, either forgetting that Hugh had come home with an honorific before his name or choosing to pretend she did not know. It was a slight, in any case, and Eleanor felt ashamed for her mother.

  He turned to her and bowed, “Miss Broxton. You are lovely this evening.”

  Eleanor curtsied and said, “Thank you, Sir Hugh,” emphasizing the “Sir.”

  “Sir William,” Hugh said, extending his hand to her father. She had a moment of panic, worried about how he would receive Hugh. But he welcomed him warmly, perhaps to make up for her mother’s faux pas. Or maybe he’d changed his mind about Hugh?

  Dinner was announced, and Hugh offered Eleanor his arm. “May I have the honor, Miss Broxton?”

  Had Cass orchestrated this? She certainly seemed to be pushing them toward each other. No matter. Eleanor was more than happy to walk downstairs to the dining room with the handsomest man in the room. Though other ladies present may argue the point, she was perfectly sure they would be wrong.

  She set her hand on his sleeve and they slowly made their way to the stairs. “How is your shoulder today? Did you see the physician?”

  “Yes, Cass’s doctor attended me, although I didn’t feel it was truly necessary. He pronounced my shoulder merely ‘bruised,’ and I believe he was correct. It’s a bit sore, but no lasting damage was done.” She waited a moment, then said, “Which is a miracle of sorts, since you shoved me unforgivably hard. One might think you wished to do me serious harm, Sir Hugh.”

  He laughed softly. “No. Never that.” His eyes moved downward, surveying her. “Is your gown your own design?”

  “It is.” Then, lowering her voice, she said, “But let it be our secret. It wouldn’t do at all to have people believe I was too poor to use a dressmaker.”

  He looked puzzled. “I thought everybody knew dressmaking was your profession.”

  She shook her head. “Not in Town. Only my clients know my identity. My label simply says ‘EB Creations’.”

  “I understand. Your secret is safe with me.”

  When they reached the dining room, Eleanor was more than a little disappointed to find they hadn’t been seated near each other. She was surrounded by political men and their wives, while Hugh was at the opposite end of the table near Lord Egerton and his wife. Deborah Grey sat across from her, but a large epergne in the middle of the table prevented any conversation between them. Earlier, Eleanor had watched Hugh greet his mother. Sadly—for shouldn’t a man who had been on another continent for more than two years be happy to see his mother?—she noted the lack of warmth between them and wondered why that should be the case.

  The food distracted her. Starting with a richly seasoned curry soup and proceeding on to a fish course of turbot in an herbed sauce, then to a ragout of veal with vegetables and a savory potato pudding. She ate, sipped her wine, and chatted amiably with the MP to her
right about Napoleon’s return to Paris and what action the British army, under Wellington, was preparing to take. Between courses, they moved on to domestic matters. Unemployment among returned soldiers and sailors was high, which Eleanor was aware of, from talks with her father.

  “It must be difficult to arrive home after years of military service and find that no work awaits you, especially for those who have families,” she said.

  Occasionally, if she leaned far enough back in her seat, she could see Hugh, watch him nod his dark head. Once when he caught her looking, she felt heat rush to her face, but she held his gaze. He smiled, his eyes warm, and she turned her attention to the lady on her other side. They talked of current fashions, something she didn’t have any difficulty commenting on while she thought of other…things.

  After dinner, it was back to the drawing room for the ladies while the men indulged in their age-old ritual of imbibing port and smoking cheroots. And talking of manly concerns, whatever those might be. Eleanor always wondered why women couldn’t do likewise, although she’d no desire to smoke. But port wouldn’t go amiss. The berry-saturated tang was a gift on her tongue, and a gown made of silk the exact color of port would be exquisite. Drinking tea in the evening kept her awake. Her mother thought that was nonsense, but Eleanor had tested her theory often enough to be convinced of it.

  Cass had been commandeered by two rather strident political wives, and Eleanor didn’t care to interrupt. Her mother and Deborah Grey were seated near the pianoforte looking at sheet music and attempting to coax one of the younger wives to play. Mrs. Grey employed a dressmaker who knew how to dress a lady of a certain age. Her gown featured a slightly lower waist and a neckline, modest without crossing over to prudish.

  Restless, Eleanor quietly left the room. A breath of night air would be refreshing. After returning to the first floor, she proceeded through the entryway toward the rear of the house, passing the dining room just as the men were emerging. Several were still talking and laughing, some of them sounding foxed. Hastily, she slid into the shadows and kept moving toward the doors. Once outside, she breathed easier. Flambeaux lit the shadowed terrace, casting light upon the lime trees bordering the stone balustrade. Eleanor loved their sweet aroma, but it was too early yet for the blooms. It would be another month at least, so she would have to conjure the scent from memory. She set her gloved hands on the cool stone railing and breathed in the night air.

  “Eleanor.”

  She gasped and spun around. “Hugh, I didn’t hear you.” He stepped closer. His dark eyes reflected the light in two perfect pinpoints.

  “My pardon if I startled you. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

  “Probably the same thing as you. Seeking fresh air and solitude.”

  “The gossips getting to you?”

  “No. Not really. Cass was occupied and, to say the truth, I didn’t feel up to the task of acquainting myself with one more person with whom I have absolutely nothing in common.” She laughed. “There. Now you know my true nature. Impatient and rude.”

  “I would never use those words to describe you,” he said, his voice low. “I find, since I’ve been back, I often need to get away from the crush of people, wherever I may be.”

  “In your case, understandable and even expected. But I’m afraid I have no acceptable excuse.” Their arms brushed against each other. Just the merest touch, like a breeze fluttering over her skin, and yet so intimate. If she possessed an ounce of good sense, she would move away, but the tingling in her arm and the trembling in her belly wouldn’t allow it.

  She started a little when Hugh lightly grasped her arms and turned her to face him. “Eleanor, you are so damned beautiful, you make me lose my reason. I shouldn’t be alone with you on this terrace, and certainly I shouldn’t kiss you, but I’m going to.”

  She didn’t have a chance to protest. His arms came around her waist and pulled her hard against him, and then he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and tenderly probing. He slid his hands up her arms and down her back, where a complicated arrangement of bands crisscrossed, exposing much of her skin. He pulled away long enough to say, “Have I told you how much I love this gown?”

  A giggle bubbled up from her chest, and then his mouth came back down on hers, harder and more demanding this time. Her hands roamed up to his shoulders, while he explored every inch of flesh on her back. Unlike her, he wore no gloves. When her need to be closer to him became so acute it was painful, he caught her in an embrace that said I never want to let you go, and her heart surged.

  His tongue, tasting like port, slipped into her mouth and found hers, silk against silk. He drew her closer, until her breasts were thrust against his hard chest. Molding herself against him, she felt the evidence of his desire for her. Had he suggested it, Eleanor would have been willing and ready to be dragged out into the darkest reaches of the garden and… Good God, what am I doing?

  Wasn’t this what happened before? She had allowed her body’s desperate need to upend her, to reign over common sense and her own best interests. And look what had happened. She could never regret her actions of that night when she’d gotten Lili as a result, but she could not risk the chance of another pregnancy. It had taken exactly one time for her to fall pregnant, and it could happen again. And inevitably, Hugh would find out the truth.

  She wrenched herself away from him. “No, Hugh. Stop.”

  He let her go immediately. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “We can’t do this.”

  He took a step back, and she could see by the hard set of his jaw that she’d angered him. “You want this as much as I do, so would you mind telling me why not?”

  “You are mistaken. I-I do not want it, that is, to do this again.”

  “And the reason for that is…?”

  “I have a business to run. It takes all my time, and dallying with you would disrupt that.”

  “You mean being intimate with me? Once was all you required?”

  “We had sexual congress. That was all.” So hard to pretend it had meant nothing to her, when it had meant everything.

  He raked a hand through his thick hair. “Sexual congress. That’s like carnal knowledge. Coitus. Copulation.” He barked a sardonic laugh. “Interesting, they all begin with C.”

  “Call it whatever you like.”

  “Very well, then. Here’s what I call it. I had you on a hay bale, Eleanor, after you seduced me. How does that suit?”

  The harshness of his words was like a punch to the stomach. That frightening moment when breath wouldn’t come. Had she seduced him? She’d never felt shame about that night, but perhaps she ought to. Hugh apparently thought so, judging from what he’d just said. Her mind went dark, and she couldn’t speak. What was left to say, in any case? A voice jarred her out of the place she’d retreated to.

  “Pardon me for interrupting.” It was Adam. Thank God he hadn’t appeared a few minutes earlier. Even if he’d seen nothing, what had he heard?

  “Not at all,” Hugh said, his gaze still riveted on her. At last he looked away, and she could breathe again. “What is it, Adam?” Hugh’s words were clipped, his voice brittle.

  “Deborah wants to speak to you before you leave. Can you spare her a moment?”

  “Where is she?”

  “In my study. I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”

  “Not necessary, I’ll go to her now.” Turning, he nodded curtly in Eleanor’s direction. “Miss Broxton.”

  He strode off, leaving his brother slack-jawed with surprise. Eleanor tried to put a good face on it, or at least to make it somewhat less embarrassing for them both. “I don’t think he’s feeling quite the thing,” she said stupidly.

  “Hmm. It would appear so. Not a good time for him to speak to Deborah.” He offered his arm and she accepted. “Too late to worry about that now,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Hugh made his way toward Adam’s study in a haze of anger he couldn�
��t dispel. He should have asked his brother to make his excuses to Deborah. Anything would have sufficed.

  Had Eleanor’s regard for him truly been so trivial? Everything about her manner with him—from her clandestine spying at the pond to the kiss they’d just shared—said the opposite. They had found pleasure in each other’s company before. Their dealings since Hugh had been home had been strained, it was true, and he could neither explain nor disregard it. But tonight, she had seemed happy to see him. They’d conversed easily on their way in to dinner, and she’d thrown him flirtatious looks throughout the meal.

  So what had happened? Damned if he knew, and now he must meet his mother alone, a situation he’d dreaded, avoided, since he’d been back in England. He had nothing to say to her that wouldn’t cause more pain to both of them.

  The door was closed, and he knocked lightly before entering. She was standing before the hearth, which was nothing more than ash at this point. “Deborah. Adam said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes.” Her expression was guarded. Something in his voice must have warned her of his mood.

  He should walk over to her, but his feet felt like they had in Canada when he’d sunk into an eight-foot snowdrift. Moving forward was not a possibility. Instead, he stood on the threshold and waited for her to speak.

  “Won’t you sit down, Hugh?” she asked.

  “I prefer to stand.” He moved into the room, keeping his distance.

  “You won’t mind if I sit? I find that I’m exhausted by these parties that require me to be charming, yet on my guard, for an entire evening.”

  Hugh waited while she rearranged her skirts. At length, growing impatient with womanly tricks and prevarications, Hugh said, “Why am I here, Deborah?”

  She looked up at that. “Oh, Hugh, can you not guess?” She tilted her head and fixed her still-bright blue eyes on him. “I want to know if you will come back to us. To Adam and me. Now that your father is gone—”

  “You think I am desperate for a family since the old man died? Have I judged it accurately?” I should leave. Now. Before things get out of hand. But the pain inside drove him on. “I’ve had nobody for a long time, Deborah. I don’t need you or Adam in my life. Over the years, I learned to get along without you.”