The Lady and Her Secret Lover

by Jenn LeBlanc

  She watched as Ellie picked up a candied pear slice and sucked the end of the sweet treat. Then stared. Then gaped. She only realized she was doing so when the gentleman—if you could call him that—next to her cleared his throat.

  “She’s quite charming,” he drawled from between two floppy jowls of cheeks. “You’ll have to introduce us.” He sneered as he took yet another large helping of the stuffed peacock.

  Louisa shuddered. She wouldn’t introduce them. She would avoid it. She cut her gaze to the man, then away again.

  “Your father, he’s a friend. He mentioned you’re nearly on the shelf and may need some help in finding your way.”

  She cringed. What the hell did that mean? “Sir, I am quite able to find my way, thank you. Regardless, we have yet to be introduced ourselves. This entire conversation is…” Her thoughts drifted away as she watched Ellie spoon a giant puff of whipped cream into her mouth, then give her a wink. She was doing this on purpose. It wasn’t a show for the men—though they heartily believed it may be. She sat over there acting all sweet and innocent, but in reality she was baiting Louisa the whole time. Lou closed her eyes and smiled, then jumped when she felt a hand at her knee. She stood suddenly, her chair falling back to the floor with a resounding clatter that stilled the whole of the dining room. Louisa blanched. “I beg your pardon, I…” Don’t insult the hostess… “I believe I might swoon from so many wonderful dishes. Won’t you excuse me?” She turned, then heard Ellie.

  “I shall go help her.”

  When she entered the retiring room, Louisa checked to be sure nobody was in the attached water closet, then she turned to the door. As soon as she saw Ellie enter the room she took her shoulders, pushed her back against the door as it closed, and kissed her. Damn, it felt good. To push her up against the wall and have her mouth. She could taste the sugar and ginger from the pears, the cream from the dessert, the sweet wine she’d had with dinner.

  She swept her tongue across the roof of her mouth and sucked that lower lip into her mouth, savoring every last taste she could. Then Ellie changed everything and next thing Louisa knew, she was pushed to a settee and Ellie was on top of her, her hands crushing the satin of her own skirts as she tried to push them out of the way.

  “Ellie… Ellie!” Louisa said. “Ellie, you have to stop. We can’t, not here.” Louisa took Ellie’s cheeks between her palms and caught her gaze. “Sweet, beautiful Ellie, not here. Even if we can dress each other, we’ll never escape without some rumor.”

  Ellie sat up as she straddled Louisa, pouting. Then she stood from the settee and pulled Louisa up to try to straighten her dress. “Stop making it so difficult then,” Ellie said stiffly.

  “Me? I wasn’t the one who was sucking on every piece of candied fruit I could get my hands on,” Louisa replied.

  “I wasn’t sitting across the table making eyes at some gruesome gentleman.”

  “You can’t be serious. That man…” Louisa shuddered. “No.”

  Ellie turned Louisa and started to straighten the silk of her bustle so it wasn’t so terribly rumpled. “Do you think dinner is over yet? I don’t want to go back in there.”

  Louisa popped her head out the door. “I hear the orchestra tuning, so I imagine it’s nearly done. We could go to the ballroom and wait, or out to the gardens.” She didn’t want to return to that table either. The man next to her had been abhorrent, and watching Ellie flirt had been beyond frustrating.

  “Did you really want me because of the fruit?” Ellie said.

  “More than you can know, Ellie. More than you can know.”

  Louisa watched Ellie across the ballroom, wishing she could do more than just gaze at her from afar, but calling attention to her…attentions was out of the question. Her father was here tonight, as were his friends. She wished they could manage to get out to the gardens so they could walk, alone, perhaps chat a bit, get away from the crowd.

  “Louisa!” The exasperated voice came over her shoulder.

  She peered at him…up at him. All that blondish hair flopping too long against his crown, his smile without want or insistence. “Oh, you are well in your cups, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely…yes. I suppose so.”

  “What do you need, Hugh?”

  “Nothing. Would you like to dance? You haven’t been seen with a suitor yet this evening.”

  “Are you offering?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “I… To dance, yes. The rest? Not particularly. I just figured, you know, once around the floor for friendship sake?” He shrugged. He seemed terribly unsure of himself at the moment and while she knew she wasn’t the cause of it, something in her called to be the resolution. “I’m serious. Think about it,” he said then and his demeanor shifted from sadly jovial to truly heartbroken. “And when there are no other options…”

  “No other— Ah, yes.” She wasn’t about to list with specificity his impending broken heart.

  “Yes. Well. When there are no other options, I think we would make fine spinsters together.”

  “Is it really that dire for you and Amelia?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’ve always known she and Charles would marry. The contract, after all, is nearly as old as we are. It’s that… it’s soon, and I only just realized…I only just realized it was no longer some awful thing that would happen one day. That one day will be here— sooner than I’m prepared for.”

  “Well, when that day comes you may call on me.”

  He looked at her confused for a moment, then smiled, “Ah… my very own spinster wife.”

  Louisa giggled. “I think my father would allow it. You must be better than nothing, wouldn’t you think?” she said stoically. Hugh laughed, and it filled his face with a joy she hadn’t seen on him in a while.

  He took her hand and pulled her to the dance floor without another word. “So, do we have a pact then?” he asked as he recovered quite well and swung her vigorously through a turn. “If neither of us can find a suitable match, we’ll have each other.”

  “Yes, precisely,” Louisa replied. “You know, eventually, if certain things don’t work in your favor,” she said.

  “You already assume nothing will work in your favor?” He sobered. Louisa’s heart skipped a momentary beat, then she nodded. It seemed all she could persuade herself to do for an answer. “In that case I could be persuaded to offer for you,” he whispered.

  The music ended, and Hugh bowed to her as she scanned the ballroom for Ellie. She must have been taken to the gardens by some man. Louisa waved Ender off as Trumbull approached, then returned to her chosen potted palm.

  “Louisa.” The deep voice sent a steel rod up her spine, stiffening all of her muscles as she turned to her father and curtseyed. “Daughter, I would present Lord Hepplewort. His lands at Shropshire are extensive and in need of a mistress. You would do well to consider him.”

  So it was like that, was it? Not even a how-do-you-do? All business. Just a gruff get-yourself-married-and-out-of-my-house-this-man-will-do-fine. Her father didn’t even smile. She curtseyed to the man who’d been seated next to her at dinner out of requirement more than respect. The man known as Hepplewort was more porcine than human in manner and his dress was frankly quite garish.

  She raised her hand for him, “My Lord.”

  “The pleasure is mine. Perhaps a walk in the garden?” Hepplewort said.

  “My Lord, I—” she started but her father cut her off.

  “I think that a lovely idea,” he said stiffly, then he nodded to Hepplewort, gave her a look that chilled her to the bone and turned and left her with him. A sense of dread washed over Louisa like thick black ink spilling across her diary, blotting out all the words and permanently destroying any thoughts she’d written down.

  Hepplewort took her hand and placed it on his elbow, holding it there when she tried to jerk away as he waddled them toward the exterior doors. She glanced over her shoulder for Ellie but didn’t see her anywhere. She saw Hugh but he was tur
ned from her, chatting with Trumbull across the room. The last thing she saw before looking forward was his head thrown back in laughter at something Trumbull said.

  “Your father tells me you’re interested in getting married post haste,” Hepplewort said.

  Louisa shook her head. “My father believes I should be,” she replied. “But I’m not particularly ready for that shelf quite yet.”

  “Oh, that, my dear, is obvious. I am betrothed regardless.”

  “Why would my father attempt to marry me to you if you already have a wife in waiting?”

  “I didn’t make your father aware of it. Seemed unnecessary.” He motioned for her to precede him through the door, and she was relieved to release his arm and move swiftly away from him.

  “But when he introduced us—” Louisa said.

  “Necessary for propriety’s sake, of course. After all, a young, marriageable woman shouldn’t be taken to the greens by a man who has no interest in her future, now, should she?” he said from right next to her.

  She should have felt better knowing he wasn’t interested in marriage to her, but she didn’t. “Where is your lovely betrothed this evening then?” she asked, hoping to divine some reason for this farce.

  “My wife is in France. She’s being trained in proper comportment for a lady. When she comes to England, she’ll be the most respectable bride imaginable.”

  “Will she, My Lord?” She walked to the end of the terrace to put more distance between them, hoping to find another couple with which they could converse, but there was nobody.

  “Most definitely. She’s in seclusion in a convent. She won’t be of an acceptable age for another year or so. But she’ll be well worth the wait,” he said, once again much too close.

  Louisa felt a stone form in her chest that slowly sank to the pit of her belly, sitting there like bread without yeast, too heavy to digest. It sounded as though he was betrothed to a child, and she wondered how much say the girl had in this decision. Most likely none at all. Louisa felt his dry finger run from her shoulder to the top of her glove, and fear slivered through her. She moved down the steps to put some space between them, once again searching for someone else with which to buffer the conversation, he followed.

  “My Lord,” she said, attempting to keep some sound, simple words, anything, between them. Something another person could hear and attest to, inane conversation of any sort at least, but her throat closed and her hands began to shake. The rock in her belly expanded and her lungs compressed, no room against the corset to make up for the loss. She felt a trickle of sweat run the length of her neck, soaking into the edge of her corset and starting a chill.

  Her gaze darted about the gardens for anyone they could move toward. She heard laughter around the corner and turned in that direction, only to realize she’d come to a small courtyard garden and the laughter she’d heard came from an upper window that was cranked open. She turned back—but he was there, his fetid body much too close. “I see no reason to remain here, since we’ve no interest. As you’re betrothed and my father has made his interest in my finding a husband clear, I should be returning—”

  “My purpose for being here isn’t to marry you.”

  “But my father— My Lord?” Louisa’s heart raced. He moved much swifter than a man of his stature should be able.

  “Your father knows exactly what he requested of me. Don’t play coy—this is your third season. There aren’t many reasons for that. You’ve no longer your maidenhead to barter with, or you need to learn your place. So let’s have a sample and find out which it is, shall we?”

  Louisa was trapped as he grabbed for her skirts and pulled her closer. If she screamed, she’d be ruined and truly trapped with this man—for life. She had to get away from him quietly and without incident. She side-stepped but felt the cold stone of the house and she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to think. “Please, My Lord,” she begged.

  “Yes, do a bit of that, won’t you? I do like it when they beg.” He ran his tongue across his lip as he watched her, pressed into her, and lifted her skirts with one hand.

  She pushed against him but his feet were anchored and his weight too much. “Please.” She watched as the light from the windows above cut across his face and his eyes flared in the light. “Oh, God no, please.”

  His hand ran up her inner thigh, and she took a breath, all hope gone, nothing left but to scream for help now, but his other hand slammed up into her chin before she could muster her breath—closing her mouth with a violent snap while his fingers pressed against her lips to stifle any sound she made. He pushed into her face, the force of it turning her into the cold stone as he crowded her against the wall. “Be silent now, would you? We wouldn’t want to be interrupted. Think of the consequences then,” he said as he forced one leg between hers and pried them loose.

  She fought, her hands hitting his shoulders, his chest, grabbing at his coat while he somehow kept his face out of her reach. She wanted to dig his eyes out, but she couldn’t move her head from the wall, couldn’t shift her gaze enough to see where he was. It seemed he was everywhere.

  “That’s the way,” he grumbled. “Fight me.”

  The words made her freeze. Her hands clenched on his jacket as she tried to catch her breath behind his hand. She closed her eyes and wished, hoped, for someone to find her. She cried hot, stinging tears and closed her eyes. She whimpered.

  His hand found its way between her legs again, and she lost all semblance of propriety. His hard, calloused fingers forced through, and she pushed, fought and kicked with every part of her. She was no longer in control of herself; she didn’t know who she was. She felt so completely separate from everything she knew herself to be, from her past, from her present, from her future.

  One moment she was up against the wall and the next she was on the ground, her skirts around her thighs, the cage of her bustle cutting into the backs of her thighs, and this man, this man in a place he had no right to be.

  She closed her eyes and tried to expel him from her body, tried to force him off her, tried everything she could, but there was nothing, and then his hand slid away and she screamed. A shadow fell across him, and she realized someone was leaning from the window above.

  She heard angry voices but had no idea what they said—then she was cold. She was still on the ground but he was gone. She rolled to her side, curled into herself and lay there. In the back of her mind, she knew she needed to get up, she needed to set herself to rights, to make herself presentable, to run, to get away before someone discovered her here—before she was ruined. But she couldn’t move.

  The light shifted again, and she covered her face with one arm as she flung the other forward in defense and sobbed. “Please, no.” Her voice was hoarse. Hands were on her and she pushed them away preparing for another battle. Her eyes flung wide in terror as she cursed herself for not running when she had the reprieve.

  “Louisa.”

  She held her hands out at arms’ length as she tried to concentrate on the voice.

  “Louisa.”

  Her name was so quiet, so calm, so… “Hugh?” Her voice caught in her throat and she looked up into the light from the window to see the outline of a man bending down to her, lifting her from the ground, then holding her close. Relief like a flood in the marsh washed over her body and took all rational thought away, and all she could think was, Thank God for this man.

  “Perry, get my carriage to the mews. The gates are beyond the gardens,” he whispered.

  “What about her father?” Perry asked.

  “Don’t,” she said, physically and mentally exhausted. Louisa closed her eyes and let Hugh take charge of her. “Don’t go to him. I didn’t come here with him. I came with Maitland and her cousin,” she managed. She grabbed on to Hugh with all her remaining strength.

  “Perry, we have to get her away from here as quick as possible. She can’t be seen with either of us. You cannot tell her cousin unless you’re of a mind t
o marry—”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. So bring my carriage. We’ll get her home and send a note. Louisa?”

  She didn’t answer. She had nothing to say.

  “Louisa, I have to ask you a question, please.” He held her tight in his arms and spoke softly, his mouth at her ear, the words questioning, his tone brooking compliance. She nodded once, and he waited. “Do you have need of a physician?” Hugh whispered when Perry’s footsteps receded.

  “I don’t… I don’t know,” she said, wondering what sort of question it was, and that was when her body started to wake up and report pains she was unaware of only moments ago. Her face stung, probably from being pressed into the wall. Her fingers hurt from grabbing him and scratching, and fighting—

  “Louisa, I need you to tell me if he forced himself inside you. Did he take your maidenhead?” he asked.

  Oh… oh, God. “I just… really have no idea,” she replied. Because she didn’t. It had hurt, his hands. They’d hurt when he’d forced his hands between her legs. Whatever had happened there on the ground…it had hurt, it had all hurt, but she’d no idea what he’d done to her. Louisa heard the rattle of a team of horses behind them and felt Hugh turn with her and move toward the sound. “Wait— Ellie. I was to stay with—with Maitland tonight. Maitland Eliot Rigsby.”

  Hugh spoke with his driver, then spoke to Perry and placed her carefully in the carriage. She didn’t let go of him, and when he sat next to her, she melted against him again. She couldn’t let go. “Perry, find a way to get word to her cousin that Louisa has taken ill. Do not go yourself—find Miss Eliot Rigsby, have her tell the cousin, then get her to this carriage. We’ll wait here. Do not let anyone see you with her.”