He had made love to her last night. Several times. And in the early morning too. Tenderly, reverently, with passion and love. It had been glorious, wonderful, more than she could ever have imagined, ever hoped.
It was all a lie. A cruel, vengeful lie.
Eleanor struggled to concentrate, to hear what else was being said, but a ringing began in her ears. Her knees felt weak and she realized if she continued to stand she was going to collapse. Hand over hand she clutched the end of the sideboard and slowly made her way to the brocade settee. Sinking down into its softness, she focused on remaining upright, trying to shake the numbness from her body.
The tension in the room was oppressive. Eleanor folded her arms tightly and ran her hands vigorously over her upper arms. She felt cold down to the marrow of her bones, ill with shock. Her body ached, but it was her heart, her bruised and broken heart, that pained her most.
Lies, it was all lies.
The man who had made love to her repeatedly last night, who had held her close, worshipped her body with his own, brought her such tremendous joy, had betrayed her. It had all been a deliberate manipulation, a deceit that would enable him to settle a score with her father.
Leave! Rise to your feet, turn toward the door, and walk away.
The command screamed silently in her head, yet she was paralyzed, rooted to the spot. Forced to endure the embarrassment and humiliation that was clawing at the final vestiges of her shattered pride.
What was the earl saying? Her dazed mind struggled to separate the words from the emotions, to listen and comprehend.
They were arguing. Over her. No, over their duel. A duel her father refused to accept. After all, her honor was worth nothing to him. She was worth nothing to him.
Eleanor pressed a fist to her mouth to keep from making any sound. The agony inside her was threatening to slice her in half. Battling back her tears, she clutched at her chest, pressing hard against the aching pain.
With Herculean effort she managed to stand. Harshly commanding herself to move, she managed to put one foot in front of the other and finally made her escape.
Neither Sebastian nor the earl attempted to stop her. Honestly, she doubted either of them even noticed she was gone.
Seething with anger and frustration, Sebastian watched Hetfield pull on his leather gloves with slow deliberation. The revenge he had so carefully planned, had so meticulously calculated, was crumbling to dust and there was nothing he could do to salvage it.
The anger inside him was quickly turning to helplessness. The earl was leaving. What now?
“Hetfield!”
The earl turned, his expression bored. The anger simmering inside Sebastian rekindled. White-hot anger. For the way the earl had so callously treated his mother, for the disregard he had showed Eleanor, for the injustice that would forever go unpunished.
“It’s over, Benton. Take my advice. Be a gentleman and forget it.”
The words, spoken in such a smug, cavalier tone broke Sebastian’s temper. Rushing forward, he planted his fist in Hetfield’s stomach. The earl let out a muffled sound, then doubled over as the air was knocked out of him. Waiting only until Hetfield had straightened, Sebastian jabbed with his right hand and smashed his fist into the earl’s jaw.
The earl staggered backward and fell to the floor. The drawing room door burst open at the commotion. Two bewildered footmen entered, each staring in astonishment at the older man prone on the carpet, then at Sebastian.
“Lord Hetfield is leaving,” Sebastian announced, flexing his fist. The knuckles were red and bruised. “Please escort him to his carriage.”
The footmen ran to help the earl to his feet. Once standing, he shrugged the servants away, then reached up to wipe away a trickle of blood from his cheekbone. “Though I admit no wrongdoing of any kind, I shall allow that to pass.”
“Pity. I was hoping you’d take a swing at me so I could lay you flat on your back again,” Sebastian replied in an icy tone.
A muscle jumped in the earl’s jaw, but he said nothing. Turning with a huff, he strode out of the drawing room, flanked on each side by a footman.
The moment he was alone, Sebastian sagged against a chair. Punching Hetfield had felt good, a momentary release of frustration and anger and pain, but it had faded quickly, leaving him with a hollow feeling of regret and a nagging sense of failure.
The earl was a malicious bastard, lacking both honor and conscience. His treatment of Sebastian’s mother had been unforgivable, yet his treatment of his daughter was not much better. Learning how little regard her father had for her must have been devastating to hear, a pain she certainly did not deserve.
Oh, Eleanor! Mired in guilt, Sebastian turned to face her, then realized she was gone.
The clock ticked loudly, each second feeling like an hour. Eleanor sat quietly in the wingback chair of her bedchamber, her packed portmanteau resting at her feet. The sound of footsteps in the outside corridor momentarily roused her from her stupor and her heart skipped as the door opened.
Summoning her courage from the depths of her pain, Eleanor lifted her head, steeling herself. Sebastian stood in front of her, staring at her with deep emotion stark in his eyes, a combination of detachment and desolation.
Furiously, Eleanor blinked back her tears. There was no time to indulge them. She had to be on her guard for what was to come.
“I wasn’t sure where you were,” he said quietly.
She linked her hands together to stop them from trembling. “Is the earl gone?”
“Yes.”
“Will there be a duel?”
“No. He refused.”
Sebastian looked so defeated she might have felt an ounce of sympathy for him if her heart was not frozen with the pain of betrayal.
“I too will soon be gone, but I couldn’t leave without asking you. Why?”
Thankfully he did not pretend to misunderstand. “The earl had an affair with my mother, I believe shortly after he became a widower. She found herself with child and he refused her any aid. In desperation she hung herself. I was the one who discovered her lifeless body.”
Eleanor shuddered. It was even more heinous than she had suspected. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“Too young to exact your revenge. Yet why have you waited so long?”
“I promised my grandmother I would not confront the earl. When she died a few months ago I was at last free to pursue justice.”
“Were you going to kill him?”
Sebastian shrugged. “The potential to inflict a fatal wound always exists with swords or pistols. I confess I would not have felt any remorse if I landed a mortal blow.”
A part of her understood his bloodthirsty need, given what her father had done, but she could never condone his methods. “Unfortunately, the earl thwarted your clever plan rather neatly, did he not? I realize now Bianca was your original target. That was what you intended, wasn’t it, to ruin my younger sister?”
Sebastian gave a curt nod and she continued.
“You know, it might have ended differently if you had used Bianca. I believe my father has a very marginal regard for her, but more important, she is of greater value to him. He brought her here to make a profitable marriage, and embroiling her in such a sordid scandal would have made that difficult.
“Then again, he might have thrown her to the wolves as he has done with me. If not Viscount Farley, he would have found someone willing to pay for the privilege of marrying an earl’s daughter. You see, he is not bound by any rules except his own. Nor does he possess a gentleman’s code of honor. A trait you share with him.”
She knew it would gall Sebastian to be compared to his enemy, but she could not resist saying it.
He glanced away. “I know my actions cannot be excused by explaining the past, but I am truly sorry for what I have done. I never meant to hurt you. I promise that I shall do everything in my power to protect and guard your reputation.”
She let
out a hollow laugh, clenching her fingers together so tightly it hurt. “‘Tis a bit too late for that, my lord.”
His mouth thinned. “Maybe not. Only you and I and the earl know that you stayed here last night.”
Reputation be damned! It was her heart that was in ruins. Could he not see it?
“I don’t care a fig about society’s opinion of me,” she stated emphatically, “except that my stupidity might harm Bianca. I would never forgive myself if she suffered because I’m such a gullible simpleton, easily duped by a bit of male attention and flattery. It must have been so amusing for you to watch the dull, plain spinster make a fool of herself, though Lord knows how you found the stomach to kiss me.”
He winced. “On the contrary. Kissing you has always been the greatest of pleasures.” He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “I knew it was wrong, but I swear, Eleanor, you must believe me when I tell you that though I tried, I was unable to resist you.”
A twinge of guilt cramped her stomach. She could not lay the blame entirely at his feet for their physical relationship. He had left her alone in her bedchamber last night—she was the one who had pressed the issue, had essentially seduced him.
“Yes, I made it impossible for you to turn me away,” she admitted dully, the sorrow slicing through her like a cold, damp wind. “Coming to your chamber last night, behaving like a whore.”
He visibly flinched. “My God, it wasn’t like that, Eleanor.”
Her heart stirred at the pain in his voice and she cursed herself for being twice a fool. “Wasn’t it?”
“No, never. Making love to you was beautiful, perfect. A memory I shall long treasure, though I realize I haven’t the right.”
He sent her a look of such regret and tenderness she nearly lost the thin thread of her composure. Her bruised heart curled in wariness and she knew she couldn’t let herself think or feel or else all would be lost.
Abruptly she stood. “I’m leaving.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not certain,” she whispered, fear shimmering through her. She could not return to London. The country was a possible destination, but would she be able to live at the family manor with such uncertainty, knowing at any moment the earl might appear and toss her out?
At length, she drew a deep breath, then straightened her shoulders. “All I do know is that I refuse to wallow in self-pity and remorse for the rest of my days. You aren’t worth it.”
“On that point we most definitely agree.”
She sent him a blistering glare, then stalked toward the door, picking up her luggage on the way. “Farewell, my lord.”
“Wait!” His voice was raw. “Where are you going? How will you get there?”
Her back stiffened, taut as a wire, but then her head lowered until it rested against her chest. She felt so tired. “My great-aunt in Bath will offer me refuge.”
“Are you certain? Shouldn’t you send a message first and make sure you will be welcomed?”
Eleanor refused to even think about it. To be turned away was simply too unbearable a concept. “Aunt Jane is the sister of my maternal grandmother. She has never married, but is a progressive-minded female who has always disliked the earl. I have only met her twice, but we exchange letters several times a year. She will shelter me until I sort myself out.”
Saying the words out loud gave Eleanor a confidence she did not entirely feel. But it helped enough to still the panic whirling inside her. She observed Sebastian fumbling in his pocket and had a sudden inkling of what he meant to do. “I swear by all that is holy, if you try to give me any money I will slap you.”
His arms stilled, his hands slumped to his sides. “At least take my carriage. It is comfortable and safe. You can’t possibly travel on a public coach without a proper lady’s maid.”
“Ah, yes, my precious reputation again.”
“Eleanor, please. Be sensible.”
Though she hated to admit it, he was right. Being contrary just to prove a point was foolish. It was like her Scottish housekeeper liked to say, ‘Twas a foolish lass indeed who cut off her nose to spite her face.
“I’ll use your coach,” she said grudgingly. “But I need to leave now.”
He nodded. “It will only take a few minutes to have the team harnessed.”
Reminding herself to breathe, Eleanor descended the staircase, Sebastian at her heels. Thankfully none of the servants were in view. It would have been too humiliating to see Mrs. Florid or Higgins. As it was, she could only imagine the talk that was going on below stairs.
Agitated, she paced the foyer while Sebastian made the arrangements. Though it felt like hours, it was only a few minutes until he returned. Her muscles drew up tightly as he approached. Either seeing or sensing her resistance, he did not offer his arm. In tense silence they walked out the front door, side by side.
Eleanor scrambled inelegantly inside the carriage without assistance, making certain there was no chance for a final good-bye. Her pride in shreds, she pulled the carriage door shut with a resounding thud. Her nerves were at the breaking point and she knew she could not endure another word or even a glance from him.
She heard Sebastian give the order to drive on. Eyes planted straight ahead, Eleanor refused to look out the window until they had turned off the drive and started on the main road.
It was then that she noticed how blue the sky was, how brightly the sun was shining, how warm and lovely the temperature. It was a beautiful day, picture perfect in nearly every way. The type of day she would have relished taking a leisurely stroll in the garden, or an afternoon reading under a shady elm.
Or best of all, a day joyfully spent in Sebastian’s company, in Sebastian’s arms.
No, that will never happen. Eleanor closed her eyes, fighting back the pain, trying to smother her sobs with her hand. But it was no use. Her heart was shattered, her dreams destroyed. The tears rolled down her face unchecked. She cried, not only for what she had lost, but for what she would never have—a partnership with a loving husband who understood and respected her, and children to raise and cherish.
Yet she sobbed hardest of all because she knew, despite everything, she would never cease to love Sebastian.
Chapter 16
The carriage ride to Bath was surprisingly uneventful. The coach driver was skilled and knowledgeable, the two grooms efficient. They chose the cleanest, safest posting inns, making all the arrangements for meals, rooms, and fresh horses. They also paid for everything, though Eleanor never witnessed an exchange of coin.
She was treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. Even the weather cooperated, remaining sunny and rain-free for the duration. It had all the elements of a pleasant trip, but of course Eleanor could not shut down her mind, turn off her memories, or ignore the reason she was going to Bath in the first place.
Sebastian. How could you? Her thoughts and emotions in constant turmoil day and night, Eleanor struggled to get a grip on the situation and herself. Regret was a constant companion, accompanied by uncertainty and heartache. Yet it was anger that surfaced most often, anger at Sebastian for his callous treatment of her. Anger at herself for being such a naive fool. Anger at her father for his cruelty toward all the women in his life.
By the time she arrived at her aunt’s townhome, numbness had set in and Eleanor knew she was functioning on sheer will alone. She allowed one of the grooms to guide her to the front stoop and knock on the door, making no protest when he informed the butler who she was and whom she wanted to see.
Great-Aunt Jane took one look at her beleaguered face and hastened her inside. Eleanor was profoundly grateful. She was shown to the best guest chamber in the house, a pretty, airy room done in lovely shades of yellow, appointed with delicate, feminine French furniture.
After a warm bath and a strong cup of tea, Eleanor climbed into the big four-poster bed, huddled under the pale yellow satin counterpane, and slipped into oblivion.
She stayed in bed for tw
o days, forcing herself to eat a few bites of food from the trays the solemn-faced maid brought to her, telling herself that tomorrow the heavy-limbed fatigue she felt would lessen and she would rouse herself from the bed.
On the morning of the third day, Eleanor scolded herself severely, then literally dragged her weary body to the dressing table. She sat listless as the maid arranged her hair, then helped her dress in a simple, high-waisted day gown. Ready at last, Eleanor made her way to the dining room, still uncertain precisely what she was going to say to Aunt Jane.
“‘Tis good to see you standing on your feet, Eleanor.” Aunt Jane was a short, slender woman with silver hair and piercing, intelligent blue eyes. She smiled with closed lips, then released the lorgnette she had been using. It dangled from her neck at the end of a silver chain, resting comfortably against her flat chest. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Marginally.”
Aunt Jane nodded. “Sit. Some hot food will put the color back in your cheeks.”
Smiling her thanks at the footman who pulled out her chair, Eleanor did as she was commanded. Feeling no hunger, she stared listlessly down at the plate of food placed in front of her. Then realizing she was being ungrateful, Eleanor gingerly picked up a fork and attempted to eat.
“I’ve been reading yesterday’s Times,” Aunt Jane said as the footman refilled her coffee cup.
Eleanor’s fork clattered noisily on the edge of her still-full plate. “Oh?”
“There is nothing in there about you.” Aunt Jane rattled the newspaper as she folded it, gesturing for the servants to leave. “I think it’s a good sign, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Eleanor whispered. “Though an item might yet appear. I think it only fair to warn you.”
“I am a respectable woman, Eleanor, received in all of the best homes. If you’ll pardon my boast, many consider me a pillar of our close-knit community. I am not, however, a prude.” Aunt Jane reached across the table and patted Eleanor’s hand. “I assume your father has forsaken you in your time of trouble?”
Eleanor struggled to swallow. “We are estranged, a breach that is in all likelihood permanent.”
A Little Bit Sinful Page 23
