The earl brought them to a halt as the man closed the few paces separating them, a lady on his arm.
“Lord Camden,” the earl said. “Lady Camden.”
“How are you, Rushton?” the man said.
“Very well, thank you. May I present Miss Eve Crenshaw? Miss Crenshaw, Lord and Lady Camden.”
Eve affected a graceful bow. “My lord. Lady Camden.”
“Oh yes,” Lady Camden said. “We know who this young lady is.”
“Congratulations, my boy,” Lord Camden said. “It is high time you settled down. Your father must be pleased.”
Lord Rushton canted his head. “The marquess is satisfied.”
“Satisfied?” Lady Camden laughed. “I am certain he is ecstatic.”
Ecstatic? Eve had serious doubts about that. Oscar, her coachman and confidant, had told her that the marquess had visited her father that afternoon while she and Grace were shopping. Eve feared that meant her father had given the marquess the marriage contract—along with the threat that he would shoot the earl if the marquess did not endorse the marriage.
Eve caught sight of a woman she didn’t recognize staring at Lord Rushton.
“It was very nice seeing you,” the earl said to Lord and Lady Camden. “But if you will excuse us. We were on our way to the refreshments room.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but grasped Eve’s elbow and maneuvered her around them.
His attention, she noticed, snagged on the woman, and the woman’s mouth curved in a sensual smile. Eve barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Was the woman a past lover, a current lover, or perhaps in the market for a lover? Lord Rushton made a sudden turn that took her out of view and Eve cast him a furtive glance. His gaze remained forward, and his expression gave away none of his thoughts.
Two more couples waylaid them before they made it halfway around the large ballroom, and Eve spotted a group of rotund women who had them in their sights. Lord Rushton steered her past a cluster of gentleman and into the thick of the crowd where it would be difficult for the ladies to navigate their girth. They emerged near a hallway and he hurried her forward.
“The refreshments room is there.” He pointed ahead to an open doorway.
Two couples stepped from the room into the corridor and Lord Rushton slowed as they passed. Eve started to veer toward the open doorway, but he hurried her past the room.
“My lord,” Eve protested.
“Shh,” he whispered.
They turned the bend into a shadowy part of the corridor.
“Sir, we should not be here.”
He made a quick left down another corridor, then stopped in front of the fourth room on the left. He released her hand, slid open the doors wide enough to fit through, then urged her inside the dimly lit room.
Eve whirled back toward the door and was forced to retreat two paces when he stepped inside. “Lord Rushton, this is a very bad idea.”
He drew the doors closed. The meager light from the hallway disappeared and they were left with a faint light emanating from the hearth.
Lord Rushton faced her. “I realize meeting alone like this is not the most desirable situation, but our families have left us little choice. Unless you plan to obey your father’s order to marry me, I suggest we talk.”
She hesitated, then acquiesced.
“Have a seat.” He nodded to something behind her.
Eve turned. They occupied a small, wood-paneled parlor. Directly ahead, a sofa was positioned before the hearth. Thick, floor length curtains hung on the wall to the left of the fireplace. Lord Rushton crossed to the Louis XIV commode that sat against the left wall and poured two drinks from the decanter sitting on the marble top. Eve started toward the couch and caught sight of the large Lyonnaise region armoire that dominated the wall to the right. Apparently Lady Grendall had a penchant for very expensive French furniture. Eve settled on the couch and Lord Rushton joined her a moment later. He extended one of the glasses of liquor.
“I don’t drink, my lord.”
He chuckled. “Now might be the time to start.” When she frowned, he said, “Take it, Miss Crenshaw. A bit of brandy is good for the nerves. We could both use a little fortification.”
Eve couldn’t argue. She took the glass and sipped the brandy. Warmth spread down her throat to her stomach and radiated out. She had to admit, the feeling was nice.
“How is it you are so well acquainted with Dorsett Hall?” she asked as he took a long sip of his drink. “This mansion is one of the largest within twenty miles of Manchester.”
“Tony and I have been friends since childhood. I have been here often. His mother sometimes takes a respite from her parties here.”
Eve startled. “Good Lord, if she finds us here, my father will call for a parson on the spot.”
“Lady Grendall has no intention of leaving this party for even an instant. The ballroom is filled beyond capacity, and our impending marriage is all the buzz. This is the only party where we have been seen together, which will make Lady Grendall the envy of every other lady of note. Now, madam, down to business. You do not intend to marry me.”
At least he was direct. “I cannot see why I should.”
“Well, there is reason that you should, but that is of little consequence if you will not allow for it.”
“I will not,” she replied. “Grace may have that honor.”
“I did say that I would not marry your sister.”
If he knew about the marriage contract her father had drawn up would he be having this conversation with her? Wouldn’t he simply tell her she had to marry him and that that was that?
Eve shrugged. “I need worry only about finding a way not to marry you. You, on the other hand, must find a way to avoid marriage to two women. My father might prefer that I marry you, but he will settle for your marriage to Grace.”
“And the fact that I did not even know his youngest daughter will not matter?” Lord Rushton asked.
“You forfeited your innocence when you broke into my room.”
“You may be right.” He gave her an appraising look. “So you feel your adamant refusal will force me to accept your sister?”
“Your father visited my father today and there has been an announcement in the paper. I conclude that your father is in agreement that you marry one of us.” Emotion flickered in his eyes and Eve knew that she’d hit the mark. “I must say, my lord, I am surprised the marquess will allow you to marry so far beneath your station.”
“You underestimate your worth, Miss Crenshaw. If my father thought you were beneath me, he would not allow me to marry you. It is far more likely he comprehends my good luck.”
“Good luck?” she repeated, then understanding dawned. “I see. He is glad for the opportunity to force you into marriage—and I am to be the sacrificial lamb.”
An unholy delight gleamed in his eyes. “Never fear, my dear. You are not yet saddled with me. This is not the first time my father has wanted me to marry.”
“But this is the first time he has chased you halfway across England with the effort,” she pointed out.
His eyes widened in exaggerated horror. “Dear God, never say you are one of those females who engages in gossip.”
“It is impossible not to hear when a marquess arrives in Town and goes directly to his son’s hotel room. And I must add, sir, it is also impossible not to hear when a gentleman’s paramours visit him in that same hotel room.”
His humor vanished. “I advise you to beware what rumors you attend to, madam. You of all people should know that gossip seldom resembles the truth.”
Eve frowned. “What?” Then she realized that he knew about her elopement with Blane. “I see you have engaged in a bit of gossip mongering yourself.”
“As you said, some things are difficult not to hear. I, however, prefer to reserve judgment.”
“How kind of you,” she said. “But I care nothing for your judgment.”
“In that you are wise.”
Eve was star
tled by his response and regretted the censure that had been waiting for release since she’d heard about Laura Greenwood visiting his hotel room. “Things may not be as they seem,” she said, “but once you are married, visits from women like Lady Greenwood will be devastating to your wife.”
“You will forgive me, Miss Crenshaw, but it was only late last night that I was informed I was to marry. I have had no time to put my, er, affairs in order.”
She had turned into a shrew. “You are right. My apologies.”
“As to marriage, I regret that I must continue to be disagreeable, but I am obliged to put to rest any hopes you may have. I will not marry your sister.”
“My lord—”
He held up a hand. “Please, hear me out.”
She acquiesced with a nod.
“I make no excuses for breaking into your room. But I will not let one mistake dictate the rest of my life. I fully understand that you do not wish to be the victim of my folly, either, and I don’t blame you. Your father has grounds to insist I marry you, but he has no grounds to insist I marry your sister. As long as you remain steadfast in your refusal, he will have to accept the situation.”
“And where will you be, my lord, if my father manages to convince me to marry you?”
“Quite honestly, I will be better off than if I marry your sister.”
Eve bristled. “My sister will make a fine wife—far better than me.”
“That is your opinion, not mine, and as I am the one taking the wife, my opinion is the only one that counts. But, Miss Crenshaw, if you truly have no wish to marry me, then hold fast in your resolve and this will pass.”
“So the outcome rests on me?”
“If you know another way…”
She knew of another way and, as Lord Rushton was leaving matters in her hands, it seemed that was to be her only salvation. If she didn’t get Grace married to the earl, her father would have Eve’s marriage contract signed by tomorrow.
“Avoiding Grace may not be as easy as you think,” Eve said. “She has decided to marry you and, with both our parents in agreement, I do not see how you can avoid it.”
He laughed. “She isn’t the first lady to set her cap on me. As for our parents, they can only force me if I had truly compromised her.”
A trip to Gretna Green certainly qualified as a compromise. “The world thinks you did compromise her. As we know, that is everything.”
“You do not care what they think.”
“You and Grace live in Society. I do not.”
He flashed a breathtaking smile. “You were spectacular in Society tonight.”
Despite the flutter in her stomach, Eve rolled her eyes. “Flattery is lost on me, my lord. Save it for Grace.” She gulped the last of her drink—Lord Rushton was right, she did need fortification. She set the glass on the table beside the couch. “We do not agree, but we understand one another. I suggest you gird your loins, sir. The hunt is on.”
He lifted a brow. “I hunt you.”
“More important,” she said, “Grace hunts you.”
“Will you be angry if I successfully avoid your sister?”
“I…I cannot imagine how you can.”
He finished off his drink, set his glass on the matching table at his end and looked at her. “But if I do?”
“That is a trick. If you do not accept Grace that means you have me instead.”
“Perhaps…but that doesn’t mean you must marry me.”
Eve frowned. “If I do not—” She suddenly realized what he meant. “My lord!”
A woman’s muffled giggle in the hallway caused them both to look toward the door.
Eve swung her gaze back to Lord Rushton. “Someone is coming.”
He shoved to his feet and pulled her up.
“The balcony.” She turned, but he caught her arm.
“Not the balcony. The door is locked.”
“What?” Eve said.
“Lady Grendall is terrified of heights. That is why the curtain is closed. Over here.”
The murmur of a deep voice neared to the door as Lord Rushton hurried her toward the armoire.
“We cannot fit in there,” she protested.
A feminine squeal caused Eve to jump. They reached the cabinet and Lord Rushton took another step right, toward the room’s dark corner. He pressed a panel on the wall and it sprang open. He yanked the secret door wider and shoved her inside. Eve’s elbow struck a wall. She turned in the tiny space as he stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him—and pinning Eve to the wall in pitch darkness.
Chapter Five
Eve’s heart leapt into a furious rhythm. The hidey-hole was wide enough to accommodate Lord Rushton’s broad shoulders, and long enough for them to squeeze in together. Nothing more. Eve inhaled a breath, then stopped at his hiss of breath.
“Miss Crenshaw, I will ask you not to move,” he whispered.
Her pulse skipped a bit. “I-I do not hear anything. Maybe they did not come into the room.” Please, God, she prayed. But the moment the prayer passed from her lips, a woman squealed on the other side of the panel.
Eve gasped. Lord Rushton clamped a hand over her mouth. He bent slightly and she felt warm breath wash over her temple as he whispered, “Careful.”
She nodded—as much in a fervent plea for him to quit touching her as to indicate her understanding. His hand dropped away. A male voice murmured something in the room and Eve wanted to cry. Someone had chosen this room for an illicit interlude. How long would they stay? If she and Lord Rushton were caught, her father would personally escort them to Gretna Green for a quick marriage. But almost worse than that, the heat that radiated off Lord Rushton threatened to melt her on the spot.
The tension in her back was working its way up her shoulders. She shifted. He seized her hips. She jerked and banged her elbow against the wall. He cursed softly. Her heart hammered harder. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t an untried maiden. What she and Blane had done was far worse than being squeezed into a hiding place the size of a rabbit hole. So why did being wedged in with Lord Rushton have her ready to jump out of her skin? The man’s muffled voice was followed by a woman’s moan.
Eve became suddenly aware of the steely bulge pressing against her belly. Her legs weakened and she felt her knees give way. Lord Rushton jammed an arm behind her and caught her by her buttocks. Eve squeaked and batted at his shoulder. He gave her a shake. She understood the rebuke and buried her face in his chest. The thump of his powerful heart against her chest made her head spin all the faster and she seriously feared she would swoon.
His free arm slid around her shoulders and he stroked her back. Her heartbeat slowed. Despite the pressure of his fingers gripping her buttocks, her panic lowered to a simmer. Then she became aware of his chin resting on her head. The hand beneath her derriere slid upward over the curve of her buttocks in what she almost swore was a caress. A shiver ran up her back. Eve drew in a stuttered breath, and released it when his embrace relaxed. The woman moaned louder and Lord Rushton’s arms tensed. Another moan followed. The man said something indistinguishable.
“More,” came the woman’s hoarse plea.
Eve swallowed against a dry throat. The bulge digging into her stomach seemed to thicken. Was that possible? A grunt sounded from the room. The man? Eve fisted Lord Rushton’s lapel. Her stomach tightened and an ache began to thrum between her legs. The woman grunted—or had it been the man? Eve’s breath quickened, but it seemed Lord Rushton had become a statue. Then he shifted. Eve instinctually lifted her head. Her head brushed his jaw.
Soft female cries filtered into the hidey hole. Lord Rushton moved and Eve realized he was looking down at her. She became aware of a tiny displacement of air near her face, then his lips nuzzled her temple. A languid shiver slid down her spine. He pressed his warm lips against her cheek and she realized he was going to kiss her. As the thought formed, his mouth covered hers.
Eve’s head swam. She was vaguely aware of the woman
’s murmured pleas. Lord Rushton touched his tongue to her lips. Eve gave a small gasp of surprise and his tongue slid inside. His hand skimmed down the curve of her buttocks, then his long fingers cupped her bottom again as he flicked his tongue against her tongue. The rhythm was strange…erotic, and she was startled by the thought of his hips thrusting against hers in tandem with his tongue.
He moved his mouth on hers and she couldn’t repress a tentative thrust of her tongue against his. His fingers squeezed her buttocks and she jerked, digging his member deeper into her flesh. He groaned, the sound deep and masculine. Heat coiled in Eve’s stomach and radiated downward. Lord Rushton’s grasp on her derrière tightened as he undulated his hips and rubbed his rod against her.
It hadn’t been like this with Blane. He had made her feel cared for, feminine, but he hadn’t lit a fire that centered—Eve pushed at Lord Rushton’s chest. His mouth froze on hers. Her heart thrummed in unison with the beat that had taken up residence at the intimate point between her thighs. She had to stop, had to think…
Lord Rushton drew back. Eve collapsed against his chest, and he once again rested his chin on her head. They stood, unmoving, until his heartbeat slowed and Eve became aware of the silence in the room beyond. Had the couple departed? She leaned away from the earl and he straightened. She lifted on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his jaw. He shuddered and she froze. Holy God, she couldn’t reach his ear.
“Are they gone?” she whispered.
For a moment he didn’t move and Eve thought perhaps he was listening, but then she realized she was still pressed against his erection. She shifted her hips so that her stomach didn’t touch him. He made an indistinguishable sound, but before Eve could interpret it, he leaned toward the door and a soft click followed, then the panel sprung open. He didn’t move and she knew he was listening this time. He scooted toward the panel and slowly peered around the edge of the door. After a few seconds, he stepped from the secret place and reached to pull her out.
The coals had burned down significantly, but enough light remained for them to maneuver their way to the door. Eve waited while he checked the hallway, then he grasped her hand and didn’t bother to close the door, but strode down the corridor back toward the ballroom. Thankfully, they didn’t encounter anyone and, when they passed the refreshments room, Lord Rushton immediately turned back and led her inside.
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