The words were out before she realised she was going to ask them. From the very beginning she had told herself this was a liaison only for her time here. When she was finished here, so were they. Now she was acting as though their affair meant more than that. She was crazy.
‘Forget I asked that. It is not my place.’
‘I came here to tell you, Bell.’
She turned on her side so she could see his reactions. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Hugo.’
‘I know.’ He met her gaze without wavering. ‘But I want you to know. I want you to hear it from me and not some gossip-monger.’
Her stomach clenched in dread. ‘You make it sound as though someone would enjoy telling me.’
‘Some might…if they found out about us.’
In a voice smaller and tighter than she wanted, she said flatly, ‘You are going to see another woman.’
He nodded. ‘Elizabeth Mainwaring.’
Annabell went still in the circle of his arms where only minutes before she had felt safe from all harm. She had not counted on him being the one to hurt her. Not yet.
She had heard of Lady Elizabeth Mainwaring, the widow of Viscount Mainwaring. The woman was a fixture in the ton, although some wags said she was a fixture in the bedrooms of the wealthy gentlemen of the ton.
She looked away from him. She did not think she could bear to see what he thought when she asked, ‘Is she your mistress?’
The words were hard to say, but she had to know. Lady Mainwaring was only linked to men whose beds she shared.
‘Was.’ He held Annabell tighter. ‘Not since I returned here. Never again now that I’ve met you.’
She wanted to believe him, but… ‘You cannot be sure until you see her again.’
‘Annabell,’ he ordered, ‘look at me.’
The last thing she wanted to do now was look at him. He had the power to break her heart, something no one else had ever had. Power she had not realised he had until this very instant. It was a frightening realisation. Her hands turned cold.
He caught her chin in his fingers and forced her to look up. ‘I meant every word I’ve ever said to you.’
She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. She settled for saying nothing. She was afraid of what she might say. She was still emotionally reeling from two blows: his departure and her realisation that he had the power to hurt her.
His fingers tightened and his voice lowered ominously. ‘Don’t you believe me?’
The anger in his eyes seared her. She had to say something, but she did not want to beg him not to go. Nor did she want to lose what little pride she still had where he was concerned.
She had to speak carefully. ‘I don’t know what to believe, Hugo.’ And she didn’t. ‘I…’ She licked her lips. ‘My marriage taught me not to trust men. Except my brothers,’ she added, unable to malign them even in such a small way.
His eyes narrowed into green flames. His voice filled with disgust. ‘I am not Fenwick-Clyde. Nor have I ever been.’
She made herself look at him. His jaw was clenched. She could feel the tenseness in his arm that still held her close.
‘I know. I just…’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s hard to get beyond the past.’
‘You let me touch you.’
‘Yes. I don’t know why, but from the beginning I not only let you touch me, I longed for you to do so. But to trust…’ She sighed. ‘That is the hard part.’
She didn’t add that his reputation made it even harder to believe he would not rekindle his affair. The last thing they needed now was recriminations over their pasts.
‘I am not going to see Elizabeth to restart our affair, Bell. I am going to end it. You have to believe me.’ His voice held such sincerity.
‘I want to, Hugo. Truly I do.’
‘Then do, Bell. Put your past behind you. Fenwick-Clyde had no honour. Not where women were concerned or men. He cheated at cards just as he cheated at everything else.’
She had heard rumours of her late husband’s activities, but no one had ever told them to her face. She did not doubt Hugo’s word. Then why did she doubt him about his own behaviour?
She looked into his eyes and saw sincerity and frustration. If they were going to continue their relationship, she would have to take the risk of trusting, and part of trusting was believing him.
She took a deep breath. ‘Make love to me, Hugo. Now and tonight and tomorrow. Don’t let me go until you leave.’
Tenderness softened the harsh angles of his jaw and muted the sharp glint in his eyes. He smiled down at her as his arm pillowed her against his chest, against the steady beat of his heart.
‘Ah, never, Bell.’
Chapter Eleven
Hugo waited to be announced by Elizabeth Mainwaring’s butler, periodically slapping his ebony cane against the side of his Hessians. As recently as two months ago, he would have entered her salon without thought. Now he did not. He intended his relationship with her to change.
‘Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon,’ her butler said in sonorous tones.
‘Hugo,’ Elizabeth purred, rising and coming to him, hands stretched out. ‘You know better than to be so formal. It has been many months since last you were announced.’ She slanted a seductive look at him. ‘Before we became more than friends.’
Hugo made himself smile at her. It was not her fault he no longer wished to see her. She was everything a man could want in a woman. From the immaculately coiffed gold curls crowning her elegant head to the tips of her feet with their painted nails, she was perfect. Large periwinkle-blue eyes, tilted at the corners, thick lashes that were the pale brown of her true colour, to the full red lips that could drive a man crazy, she was Venus rising from the crumpled sheets of a well-used bed. Even in this cool room in the middle of the afternoon.
She did not have to stand on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. ‘I knew you would come immediately.’
Her voice, husky as only a satiated woman’s could be, caressed each word she murmured. It was a trick she had that titillated even though she was fully clothed and had not been pleasured recently. She used it well.
Just months ago, he would have been achingly hard and ready to take her here on the carpet. Now he felt nothing. The mind was a powerful thing, he mused.
He stepped away and released her fingers. ‘What do you want, Elizabeth?’
She frowned at him. ‘I wanted to see you, Hugo. It has been over two long months since you left me in Paris. I have missed you.’
‘Have you?’
He moved to a chair and sat. He crossed one ankle over his other knee and looked at her. She was ravishing, and dressed to be ravished. It was the middle of the day, but she wore muslin as thin as netting. The rich red of her nipples showed large and engorged through the material of her bodice. The skirt clung to her full hips and dipped into the area between her legs. She was temptation personified.
After Annabell’s artlessness, Elizabeth’s calculated display left him not only cold, but mildly repulsed.
Hugo took a deep breath, glad to know he could be faithful to one woman. He had never been so before, and in spite of his assurances to Annabell there had been that tiny seed of doubt. He was, after all, a connoisseur of women and had always indulged himself regardless of the circumstances. Until now.
‘Why do you really want to see me, Elizabeth?’
His voice was colder than he had intended, but there was no reason to let her think he felt something he did not. Honesty had always stood him in good stead. He didn’t think it would fail him now.
She shrugged and moved to stand in front of him so the weak sunlight coming in the window limned her long legs. ‘I want you to make love to me, Hugo. What else have I ever wanted from you?’
Tuberoses engulfed him.
‘Money? Jewellery?’
‘Sarcasm isn’t one of them,’ she said tartly, stepping back, her full mouth a pout. ‘What has happened, Hugo? You were never like this before.’
> He eyed her dispassionately. ‘I had never before decided to end our involvement.’
She gasped, her eyes narrowing. ‘You are seeing someone else.’
It was a flat statement that brooked no argument. It was spoken as though she knew without a doubt. It was his turn to narrow his eyes.
‘And if I am?’
‘She will not satisfy you for long.’ She ran one long-fingered hand over her ample hip. ‘You are insatiable. Most women are incapable of your stamina.’
He ignored her comment. The last thing he intended to do was drag Annabell’s name into this. ‘I am prepared to be more than generous with you, Elizabeth.’ His voice dropped. ‘More so than St. Cyrus will be.’
She blanched. ‘Whatever do you mean? The Earl and I are acquaintances. I am known to most members of the ton.’
He let her comment go. There was no sense in being hurtful or disparaging or reiterating a fact she was prepared to deny. However, her willingness or need to lie to him did her no favour in his opinion. He should have ended this connection long ago. He had been lazy and not wanted to do without his comforts, and Elizabeth was very creative. Now he was paying the piper for that attitude.
‘I have been to my solicitor and have drawn up papers leaving you sufficient funds to maintain your lifestyle without the need to present your favours where you do not wish.’
Without warning, she leaned forward and slapped him. Hard.
‘How dare you, Hugo. I am not a whore, no matter what you seem to think.’
‘No,’ he said dispassionately, ‘you are a well-born courtesan. If we lived during Charles II’s time, you would be having one of his royal bastards. It is not an insult, Elizabeth, it is a statement of fact. A compliment, if you will.’
She stepped away, scowling. ‘I do not need your money, Hugo. Mainwaring left me well provided for.’
‘I know, but more never hurts. It will buy you the trinkets you enjoy.’
She turned and stalked to the fireplace. Turned and stalked back to him. ‘I don’t need your settlement, Hugo. I need you.’
Her voice was suddenly all business. His nerves started twitching, a signal he had learned to trust. The reaction had saved his life at Waterloo when he had felt an itching between his shoulder blades, and turned in time to see a French soldier he had taken for dead aiming a pistol at his back.
Carefully, he asked, ‘What do you need me for, Elizabeth?’
She licked her lips until they glistened like ripe cherries. Normally he would have said she did so to be provocative, but there was no responding gleam in her eyes. A glance told him her nipples had lost their hardness. Sex was not on her mind.
‘I am with child, Hugo.’ Her voice dropped until he could barely hear it. ‘Yours.’
He stared at her. If he had been standing, he would have sat down. ‘You are carrying my child?’
‘Yes.’
He frowned. ‘I find that hard to believe, Elizabeth. I always used protection.’
She flipped her slim hand as though to toss away his statement. ‘A sheep’s gut, Hugo? Don’t be ridiculous. Those things are not to prevent conception, and if you thought they did, you deluded yourself.’
‘You speak from much experience?’ he said, acidly, unable to let her words go unchallenged.
The last thing he wanted was to be the father of her child—if she was with child. That was one part of his father’s life that he had no desire to emulate. He did not believe he had any children by any of the women he had enjoyed.
He knew himself well enough to know that if such a thing happened, he would keep the child rather than giving it to some farm family to raise. He also knew his decision might be a mixed blessing for the child, as his father’s had occasionally been for him.
Elizabeth’s left foot began to tap, a habit he knew arose when she was agitated. He put aside his memories.
‘You were not my first lover, Hugo. I was married.’
‘And Mainwaring used sheaths?’ He allowed the sarcasm he felt to drip from every word.
She flushed so quickly, he was not sure he had seen it. ‘No.’ She turned away and turned back as quickly, clearly anxious. ‘No, but I was no innocent when you met me. I know those things do not work. They were never meant for the purpose you put them to.’
‘True. But to the best of my knowledge, Elizabeth, I do not have any bastards, and I have never hesitated to do as I pleased.’
She glared at him. ‘Perhaps one of your former lovers did not tell you?’
His stomach twisted at the thought before he thrust the possibility away. ‘I cannot imagine a woman keeping that to herself. As you know, I make it plain from the beginning that I will provide for any child.’
‘So you say.’ Her full red lips curved down. ‘But even a woman’s husband has been known to refuse to acknowledge a child borne by his wife.’
He had heard rumours that she had borne a babe during her marriage, and she had no children now. He had never asked her about it, respecting her privacy as he had expected her to respect his.
‘That is rare, Elizabeth, and you know that.’
Now she did flush and the colour stayed on her high cheekbones. ‘Yes. You are very eloquent, but I am adamant.’ She raised her hand to keep him from responding. ‘No more, Hugo. Suffice it that I know those flimsy things do not work. I carry your child.’
It sounded as though rumour was truth. He did not push her. Her past was not his concern. If she had truly carried a child during her marriage to Mainwaring and given the babe to some country family to raise as their own, then so be it. It was not unheard of in their circles. And it was still none of his business except in the way it affected her now.
Nor would fighting her change anything. He knew her well enough to recognise that she was determined to lead him to the altar, no matter what her true motive was. And he knew himself well enough to know he would not refuse when an innocent child was involved.
‘I will not continue to argue with you, Elizabeth.’
‘I do not want to bear a child without a father, Hugo.’ Her posture turned defensive. ‘You of all people should know how difficult that is. Even though your father claimed you and provided for you, you must have suffered some ridicule. In school if nowhere else.’
He had. And it had been difficult. Young boys could be cruel. He had thought himself beyond the hurt of the teasing he had received at school, matured. He was surprised to find the wounds could be so easily dredged up. He had been too sensitive.
Although he had been dearly loved, he had been a bastard. He knew several of his contemporaries were not their fathers’ children, that their mothers had conceived with a lover, but the children had been born in marriage and everyone accepted them as the legal children with no shame attached. He would prefer any child of his be born in wedlock.
‘Yes, Elizabeth, I do.’ He did not try to hide the weariness weighing him down along with the knowledge of what he must do.
‘What about St. Cyrus?’ he pursued. It was one thing to let her deny the connection when there were no consequences, it was quite another to let her foist another man’s babe on him.
She stiffened. ‘I told you before, Hugo, you are the father.’
She sounded so certain that his heart lurched. He had been so careful, but he knew, as she had pointed out, that his method of protection was not foolproof. Most men of his station used them to protect themselves from disease when they bedded prostitutes. They did not care if the things kept them from impregnating the women. The suppliers did not care either.
‘How can you be sure? We have not been together for nearly three months. Surely you would have contacted me sooner if I had caused your condition.’
Her anger of seconds before melted away. Now she was all softness and vulnerability. He mused cynically that she should have been an actress.
She knelt before him and rested her head on his knees. ‘I wanted to be sure. I might…I might have lost the child.’
&nbs
p; He did not touch her. Nor did he push her away. ‘But you did not.’
‘No, I did not.’ She lifted her head to look at him.
He returned her look, wondering what he was going to do. His heart rebelled at what she wanted. His honour said he must do the right thing.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, knowing she would tell him once again that he was the father. But he wanted to hear her say it again and again, until, maybe, she might say he wasn’t.
‘Yes.’
He searched her eyes for a lie, wanting to see them shift away from his scrutiny. He wanted to see the corner of her mouth twitch from nervousness, from the fear of being caught in a lie. Neither happened.
He pushed her gently away and stood. ‘I will send the announcement of our engagement to The Times.’
She stayed kneeling, but such a look of triumph lit her face that for an instant Hugo knew she had lied. He was not the father, he was simply her dupe. Then the look was gone and all he could discern was relief, as though she had thought he would refuse. He would have if he could have proved St. Cyrus was the one, but he could not. He would never know for sure unless the child was born several months early or late, proving it was conceived when they were not together. By then it would be too late for him, they would be married.
‘I will call on you tomorrow afternoon.’
She finally stood. ‘As you wish.’
He forced his shoulders to relax only to have his hands clench. He had to clarify things from the beginning. ‘This is only a marriage of convenience, Elizabeth.’
‘Surely you jest, Hugo.’ She took a step toward him. ‘Why should we deny ourselves the pleasure of each other’s body?’
And why? he asked himself. She would be his wife and, after this fiasco, he would be lucky if Annabell even spoke to him, let alone let him touch her. Still, Elizabeth had won, but he was no longer interested in her as a woman. He would not do still another thing he did not wish to do.
‘Because I am marrying you for the child’s sake. Nothing more.’ He eyed her coolly. ‘And you may continue to see St. Cyrus after the child’s birth.’
She reared back, her sensuous body poised like that of a hissing cat’s. ‘You are not making this any easier.’
An Unconventional Widow Page 16
