Folly

by Sabrina York

  Haversham had proposed to her. Proposed.

  The prospect made Ethan feel as though he had a bevy of bees buzzing about in his head.

  All of a sudden, he wished he lived in another time. A time where, when a man saw a woman he wanted, he just marched up to her and threw her over his shoulder. A time where they didn’t have to pretend to be civilized idiots sitting on the ground eating finger sandwiches and lemon cakes.

  Then again, Ethan wasn’t being civil in the slightest.

  Not to anyone. And throughout the interminable picnic, he was plotting. Plotting a way to cut her from the herd, to get her all to himself. Helena’s game was the key. Hide-and-go-seek. Oh, he would hide, all right. With her.

  The fates—or Helena—seemed to be on his side. She announced they would play the game with partners and Haversham and Louisa would be the first team to seek. Ethan caught Haversham’s pout when he wasn’t paired with Eleanor and didn’t bother to bite back his evil grin.

  Darlington partnered with Helena, and Dent with his wife. Which left… Which left Eleanor to him.

  As soon as Haversham and Louisa covered their eyes and began to count, the other three couples scattered, heading for hiding places they deemed worthy. Ethan grabbed Eleanor’s hand and began to run.

  To his annoyance, he realized James was leading Helena to the exact spot he had picked—the labyrinth—so he veered to the right and headed for the potting shed on the other side of the sprawling gardens instead. It was tucked away at the far end of the grounds and nearly covered by creeping vines. An unlikely spot to be found. Ethan only knew about it because he had an interest in horticulture and had asked Darlington’s head gardener for a tour.

  He increased his pace when he spotted it. He was aware of Eleanor’s panting breaths as he towed her in his wake, but he didn’t stop. Not until he came to the door, flung it open and pulled her in.

  He kicked the door shut—shuttering them in loamy-scented darkness—and yanked her into his arms.

  “Ethan.” Her voice was thready and soft and…silenced.

  Because he kissed her. He kissed her as he’d been longing to since he’d rounded the corner in the conservatory and seen Haversham’s lips upon her. He kissed her, hard and deep and possessively. She murmured something that sounded like, “yes,” so he continued, taking her mouth, massaging her lips, licking at her tongue until she returned the kiss with equal fervor.

  He cupped her breast, nudged at her nipple and, when she moaned, did it again, harder.

  “Oh, Ethan.”

  He fished beneath her petticoats and slipped between her legs, rubbing the tight button he found there.

  She gasped. “Not here.”

  “Yes here.”

  “They’ll find us.”

  “Let them come.” He rubbed harder, deeper, shoved two fingers into her cunt. She was wet. Ready.

  “I want you so badly, Eleanor.” He walked her back, in the dark, until they met the wall. He yanked open the placket of his trousers and lifted her a bit, spreading her legs as he stepped between them and entered her.

  Her hand flew to her mouth to cover her cries and he slipped deeper.

  He could see nothing, only hear her desperate whimpers, feel the slick tension of her cunt, the shivers, the shudders, the quivers of her flesh around him. He could smell her arousal rising above the earthy scent of peat, mingling with his own sweat. He raised her higher, held her against the wall with his cock planted inside her.

  She lifted a leg and he groaned as the channel opened wider and his cock went deeper still. She hooked her knee around his hip. He pulled out, just a tad, and shoved in again.

  She made a little mewling sound, one that grabbed at the hard ball in his gut and twisted.

  “You like that? Do you?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  She lifted her other leg. He supported her with his grasp on the fleshy globes of her ass. He lifted her and dropped her onto his aching staff, again and again.

  “Harder, Ethan. More.”

  He increased his pace, faster, faster, ever more frantic.

  They didn’t have much time.

  Soon, they would be found.

  “Yes. Yes.” She writhed around him, trying to thrust back at him, ratcheting up the tight tension gripping his gut. A hot hard pressure throbbed at the base of his cock swelling at the sensation, the frantic grip of her cunt. Her womb began to shake, to tremble, to weep for his seed.

  He exploded. God. He exploded, pouring himself into her with thrust after thrust after thrust.

  She cried out as she came, a warbling wonder, and collapsed, panting and sobbing in his arms.

  He held her, simply held her, enjoying the warmth of her body, her weight in his arms.

  Nearly too long as it happened. For he had just lowered her to her feet, just refastened the placket of his trousers, just settled her skirt back about her legs and pulled her bodice up over her breasts, when the door to the gardener’s shed flew open, blinding them with a blaze of sunlight.

  They’d been discovered.

  Dinner that night was uncomfortable, to say the least. It wasn’t only because Helena and James kept drifting off in the middle of a sentence to stare at one another. Or because Haversham spent the evening pouting, sending long languid looks in Eleanor’s direction and dark daggers at Ethan. Or even because Louisa, still bewildered at Haversham’s reaction to finding Ethan and Eleanor together in the bowels of the potting shed, couldn’t hold a thought. Poor Dent and his wife tried to carry the conversation but clearly were not up to the task. And no one else was cooperating.

  But no. The real discomfort erupted in the middle of the meal when the doors to the dining room burst open and a nasty little troll, followed by a furious Baxter, stormed in.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord.” Baxter bowed to Darlington. “I couldn’t stop him.”

  The beast, a hideous man Eleanor knew all too well, inspected each member of the party with distain curling his lips. When he came to her, his scrutiny stalled and he snarled. He lifted a hand and pointed his gnarled finger right at her. “There you are, you strumpet.”

  Eleanor held herself still. Willed her heart not to clatter too loudly, willed her breath to still in her throat. Berwick looked far too much like his cousin for her comfort. Even their tones were alike.

  In short, he horrified her.

  The others were still as well, stunned by this crass intrusion. All but Ethan. He slowly stood, his chair scraping against the silence.

  “They told me you’d gone to a party. A party, for God’s sake, with your husband barely cold in his grave. How dare you dishonor him so? Pack your things at once. We are returning to Ulster House.”

  Ethan stepped between his woman and this threatening finger. “I think not, Berwick.”

  “Pennington.” Ulster’s cousin glared at Ethan and spat on the carpet.

  Helena’s nostrils flared.

  James stood. As did Haversham.

  Helena, true to form, could not keep silent. “Eleanor isn’t going anywhere. Especially not with you.”

  “Darling.” James gritted the word through his teeth. “Let me handle this.”

  “She most certainly is coming with me.” Mercy. Berwick was in a state. As he spoke, a white froth spat forth from his mouth, showering the table. “I am Ulster’s heir. She‘s my responsibility. My property.”

  A nasty worm writhed in Eleanor’s gut. All the fear, all the helplessness, all the revulsion of the past five years came bubbling to the surface. Her skin went cold. The blood rushed from her head. Her chest ached.

  Ulster had had total dominion over her, over her life, her person. That Berwick was claiming it now made her ill. She stood and glanced around the room, frantically seeking escape.

  “What nonsense,” James barked.

  Eleanor, in a fog, stared at him. He looked odd, all misty and blurred.

  “Nonsense?” Berwick leaned forward. “It’s the law.”

  De
nt, who’d served as a barrister before he’d inherited the title, tossed his napkin on his plate and snorted. “I would challenge that.”

  “Besides which, it is hardly certain you’re Ulster’s heir.” Everyone in the room froze. All attention snapped to Darlington. He crossed to Eleanor and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Lady Ulster is most likely with child. My doctor inferred as much the other day.”

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. All eyes shifted to her.

  Helena joined her husband at Eleanor’s side. “Darling. You weren’t supposed to tell.” Graciously, she slipped two slender fingers beneath Eleanor’s chin and closed her mouth.

  Berwick’s blank gaze flitted from one to the other as he processed this news. A blotchy red tide rose on his cheeks. He began to shake. “Liar!”

  Darlington ignored the spittle flying across the room. He puffed out his chest, throwing back his shoulders. “You dare call me a liar in my own home?”

  “Bah. I will not be fed such tarradiddle. They were married for five years and she never conceived. The prospect that she is carrying his child now is nonsense.” He glared at Eleanor with such antipathy, her knees began to knock. Dizziness washed over her. “It’s probably your child, Darlington,” he sneered. “Or yours.” He pointed at Haversham.

  “I-I don’t feel well,” she murmured, but only Helena heard her. The men were all busy shouting at one another.

  Helena gestured to Baxter and several burly footmen swarmed into the room. One of them stepped behind Eleanor, and just in time. He caught her as she fell and swept her into his arms. He carried her away into the foyer and toward the stairs as the others formed a blockade against Berwick, who screamed profanities and howled and attempted to snatch at her skirts.

  Through the swirling fog, she heard a sickening crack—bone meeting bone—followed by an ominous thud.

  And Louisa’s awe-filled voice. “Oh my, Colonel Pennington. I do believe you’ve killed him.”

  Chapter Ten

  Her eyes fluttered open to find Ethan bending over her, a concerned look on his face. She was in her room, she recognized the wallpaper. He took her hand, kissed it. “Did you…” She cleared her throat. “Did you kill him?”

  He snorted a laugh. “No. Though I would have liked to. The little weasel is sleeping it off in the servant’s quarters.”

  She tried to sit up but he eased her back down. “Well, no wonder he went mad. Why on earth did Darlington tell him I was with child?” Such an announcement would only rouse Berwick’s temper, his suspicions. He’d been so certain he’d inherit, he hadn’t taken any precautions. Ulster would have locked her away until he was absolutely certain there would not be a child.

  But now…now that the line of succession was in question, Berwick would be watching her, following her, haunting her like a wraith.

  And all she wanted was to be free of him.

  “He had to, darling.” Helena hove into view, poking her head over Ethan’s shoulder. She stepped around his bulk and sat on the bed at Eleanor’s side. “Berwick must be prepared for the ultimate announcement.” At Eleanor’s flinch she bit her lip. “Don’t frown, darling. James will protect you.”

  “That’s not why I’m frowning.” Well, it was. At least a bit. Berwick was a mean, malicious creature. “I hate telling a lie.”

  Helena beamed, flicked a telling glance at Ethan and murmured, “It may not be a lie.”

  Ethan’s ears went pink.

  Eleanor choked on her own breath. “Helena!”

  “Come now, Ellie. You know it’s true. Even now you could be carrying Ulster’s heir.”

  Ethan grumbled something unintelligible in response.

  Helena ignored him. “Just think of it,” she gushed. “You will have a child. Your future will be secure. You’ll spend the rest of your days reigning in absolute luxury as Lady Ulster. You will want for nothing. Your child will want for nothing—”

  “Except a father.” Ethan again. Mumbling again.

  “How lovely it will all be.” Helena clapped her hands in delight.

  Eleanor’s stomach lurched. She scrabbled for Ethan’s hand.

  His grip was warm and comforting. His expression gentle. He brushed back her hair and kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you rest now?”

  “I can’t.” Eleanor put a hand to her stomach. “I feel ill.” The vision of a future—her child’s future—in a nest of Ulster vipers made her belly lurch.

  “You see?” Helena chirped. “You’re probably breeding already.”

  “Oh please.” Panic rose, and with it, her gorge. Eleanor sat up and slapped her hand over her mouth. It was a struggle to hold everything back as Helena raced for the chamber pot.

  She barely made it in time.

  Helena huffed as she dabbed at Eleanor’s chin with a cloth. “That settles it. We’re calling for a doctor.”

  Eleanor’s heart lurched. A doctor could confirm a pregnancy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know she was with child. Not yet. On the other hand, she was quite sure she didn’t want to know she wasn’t. That news would destroy her.

  “Baxter! Baxter!” Helena began to warble.

  “Helena. No. Please.” Eleanor’s pleading gaze shot from Helena to Ethan to Darlington, who was standing at the door with his arms crossed over his chest. They all ignored her.

  “Oh, Ellie. How wonderful it will be.” Helena plopped on the bed. “I know it’s a lot to take in. The thought of being a mother. But you won’t be alone.”

  “I won’t?”

  “Certainly not darling.” Helena tucked her into a hug. “Lady Ulster and Mrs. Winter will be there to help you raise the child. Day in and day out.”

  Eleanor blanched.

  The thought of raising her child at Ulster House, with the dowager countess breathing down her neck and Mrs. Winter hounding her every step, was, upon reflection, rather horrifying. And God help her, what would become of the child should anything happen to her? The Ulsters were a cold brood. Hatred and malice ran rampant through the entire bloodline.

  Her child. Raised by them. An appalling prospect.

  Helena shot a blinding smile at Ethan. “And Berwick will also want to have a hand in raising him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Just think. He can teach the boy to walk and ride a horse. When he gets older, take the boy hunting in Scotland. Darling. Why are you crying?”

  Eleanor didn’t even bother to swallow her sob. Helena, rather accommodatingly, gave her a handkerchief.

  Oh, she was certain, now, she would not be having Ulster’s heir. No matter what the consequences.

  Berwick would be so pleased.

  She glanced at Ethan. He looked awful. The skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones. His complexion was mottled and red. Even as she watched, he ran a finger between his ascot and his neck.

  “Pennington?” Helena tipped her head to the side. “Are you quite all right?” He didn’t respond, merely sat on the bed at Eleanor’s feet and scrubbed at his face with his hand. “There are lots of other Ulsters, aren’t there? Practically oodles of them. I’m sure they will all want to be involved—”

  “Enough!” Ethan leaped to his feet and slashed at the air in a harsh gesture. Darlington, who was still standing in the doorway, straightened, growled. Ethan glanced at him and then repeated himself with less heat. “Enough. Eleanor needs to rest.”

  “Of course.” Helena stood. “We should leave you.”

  Panic slammed through Eleanor’s chest. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course not, darling.” She sat back down. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Ethan frowned. “I’ll stay with her.”

  “Don’t be silly Penning—”

  “I’ll stay with her.” Ethan took Helena’s hand and led her to the door, giving Darlington a warning glare.

  His friend nodded and tucked his wife’s hand in his arm. “Come along, dear.”

  But Helena would have none of it. “I beg your pardon? She’s my friend.”
<
br />   Ethan wriggled his fingers. “Shoo.”

  “Shoo?” Helena bristled like a hedgehog. She glared at her husband. “Did he just tell me to shoo?”

  “Come along, darling.” James drew her, still sputtering, from the room.

  Ethan closed the door on them, perhaps more firmly than was necessary. He flicked the lock and came back to the bed, sitting next to Eleanor. He pulled her into his arms. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She buried her face in his chest. “I’m so tired.”

  “Just rest then. I’ll lie here with you.”

  “You shouldn’t. Berwick’s here.”

  “To hell with Berwick. Hush. Just close your eyes.” He cradled her closer. Bent his head to kiss her.

  She turned away. “Not now, Ethan. Please.”

  He stilled, then tightened his hold on her. “Right. I’m sorry. You’re not feeling well.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  He shrugged. “Well, I did have plans to tie you to the bed with my ascot tonight, but I suppose it can wait.”

  She laughed and nestled deeper.

  He tipped up her chin so he could see her and he smiled. It was a dazzling grin. “I was serious.”

  “You planned to tie me to the bed with your ascot?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for days.”

  “Mmm. It sounds wonderful.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He pressed her onto the pillows and stretched out by her side. And held her. He kissed her forehead and murmured, “I rather like this too.”

  “Mmm. So do I.”

  He held her until she fell asleep, and then held her still more. They awoke sometime in the middle of the night, and he did make love to her then, but it was slow and sleepy and sweet.

  She enjoyed it very much.

  * * * * *

  Helena stormed into her suite, in a fine fettle. “Can you believe that? Pennington evicting me from a room in my own house? Why, I’ve never been so offended.” James closed the door and leaned against it. Crossed his arms over his chest. The shadow in his eyes might have been disbelief, or cynicism. She wasn’t entirely sure. “What?”