“Miss Cross.” Lord Hastings’s voice was a welcome interruption to her thoughts. He came across the hall and bowed before offering his arm. “Eliza,” he said, much more softly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m delighted to be invited.”
He smiled as he led her up the stairs. “My mother is eager to make your acquaintance.”
Eliza didn’t dare think too hard what that meant, because they were at the drawing room door all too soon and she needed to concentrate on her manners. The countess stood in front of the tall windows facing St. James’s Square, the table already spread with a delicate tea service. She was a petite, beautiful woman, and she smiled graciously when the earl presented Eliza.
The visit passed like a dream. The countess was formal but kind, and Lord Hastings kept the conversation flowing. The topics were as banal as any social call, but Eliza left feeling overwhelmed by the experience. In spite of her nerves she’d not giggled once, and the earl even laughed at something she said.
Lord Hastings escorted her out of the drawing room when the visit was over, after Lady Hastings had thanked her very beautifully for calling. “It’s over,” he whispered to her as they went down the wide stairs.
Eliza exhaled and gave a shaky smile. “It was wonderful.”
“Yes,” he said in amusement, “but I could see you were nervous. Mother liked you.”
“Did she?” Eliza didn’t even know why she longed so desperately for that to be true. “I hope so.”
“I would not say it if I didn’t believe it.”
They had reached the bottom of the stairs, where the butler waited, expressionless and facing away from them. With a finger to his lips, the earl took her hand and whisked her into a small morning room. Quietly he closed the door.
“What—?” she began, but he put his hands on her hips, propelling her backward until she hit the side table. With one motion he lifted her onto it, took her face in his hands and kissed her. Eliza sighed and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him back.
“I’ve thought of that since Thayne’s ball,” he whispered. “I thought of you . . . and this . . .” He kissed her again, his hand resting beside her knees. Eliza’s legs widened on instinct as she strained closer to him, searching for that closeness they’d had on the terrace. He growled and ran one palm over her skirt, a light touch that made her quiver with anticipation. “Just like this, yes,” he breathed, easing her knee aside until he pressed forward, his hips between her thighs.
Eliza might be a virgin but she was not ignorant. Without a mother to instruct her, she had listened intently to any bit of knowledge about men and women, boldly asking her married friends for more information when necessary. She had begun to think it would never be necessary, for her, but for the first time in years, she was very grateful for the knowledge. She gripped his jacket for balance and raised her gaze to the earl’s. “That’s very bold, sir.”
“Is it?” His dark eyes gleamed. His hands slid around her hips. “Should I stop?”
Eliza swallowed. “No.”
His mouth curved, a sensual, dangerous expression. “I suspect I should, my dear Eliza.” But his hand kept moving, up her back. “If I don’t stop soon . . . I won’t want to stop at all.” He cupped her jaw in both hands, lifting her face as if for his kiss. It felt like her bones were trembling. “If I don’t stop now, I’ll want to drive you mad, until you beg me not to stop.” Eliza shuddered. She already didn’t want him to stop, even though she couldn’t speak—couldn’t think—“I dream of driving you mad with pleasure,” he breathed, his breath hot on her neck as he nuzzled her ear.
Kiss me, she thought wildly.
He did not. Slowly he withdrew his hands, and even more slowly he lifted her down from the table and set her back on her feet. Then he did kiss her once more, tenderly and sweetly. She could only look at him, flushed and flustered and still throbbing with desire. The wry smile faded from his lips, and his brow creased for a moment.
“I’m a beast,” he said thickly. “You should slap my face.”
Mutely she shook her head. Never. Not when she wanted him so badly. Not when she was falling harder for him every day.
Hastings took a deep breath. “Your carriage is waiting. I wish . . .”
“What?” she whispered. She still couldn’t believe this was real. Surely at any moment he would shake his head and step back with a look of distaste that he’d been kissing the plain, awkward girl with no connections.
At her question he grimaced, and reached out to smooth a wisp of hair back from her temple. “I wish I had more time with you. Come, my dear.”
She walked out with her hand on his arm, her heart pounding. More time with you. He handed her into the waiting carriage, and gave a little bow as the footman closed the door. He stood on the steps watching as the carriage drove off. Eliza kept her eyes on him until they rounded the corner, and then she fell against the velvet-covered seat, wrapped her arms around herself, and gave a giddy laugh of joy.
She was helplessly, irrevocably in love.
Hugh lingered downstairs a few minutes after the carriage vanished around the corner. He’d wanted to kiss her again, to see if it had been real at Thayne’s ball, and now he felt even more off balance. She kissed with longing and joy, and it had been very difficult to keep his hands off her.
When his blood had cooled, he went back upstairs and found his mother standing at the window, gazing out. He doubted she was watching Eliza leave, but he strongly suspected she had noticed how long it took Eliza to reach the carriage.
“Thank you, Mother.” He closed the doors behind him.
She stood stiff with anger. “I wish I understood.”
He ignored that. If all went according to plan, she would never know. “What did you think of her?”
“She is as you said—warm, sweet, a bit shy. Not a beauty but very elegantly turned out.” She made this admission reluctantly. “You say she can dance and sing. I suppose that is something.”
“Her garden is a place of wonder,” he offered. “She’ll transform Rosemere if given the chance.”
His mother turned to him, disapproval stamped in every line of her expression. “And that’s why you’ve chosen a common swindler’s daughter?”
Not for the first time Hugh had to swallow his irritation. “She is not her father,” he repeated.
“Edith is very upset,” his mother went on. “Benwick put a flea in her ear about Edward Cross, and she refused to be here today. You know Henrietta always follows Edith’s lead. I hope you realize what you’re doing, forcing this girl upon your family.”
He’d had about enough of Edith’s tearful bleating about Benwick. “Is this how you would react if I paid court to one of Thayne’s sisters?”
“Of course not! We know them!”
“And in time you’ll know Eliza. Put some effort into it, Mother. I assure you she’s eager to secure your regard.”
Her face set and tears glinted in her eyes. “I wish your father were here to talk some sense into you.”
Hugh also wished his father were here, to spare him the trouble of righting their ship. But then, Joshua was the one who had almost capsized it. He doubted his father would be any help at all to either of them.
“How soon do you expect to do this?” she asked when he said nothing.
“Within the fortnight, I hope.”
His mother flinched. “So soon!”
He had no choice. When he thought only of Eliza, he felt rather content with the marriage; Lord knew he was ready to take her to bed, and he thought they would get on amiably as man and wife. But the demands of his family and the smug smile of Edward Cross made him want to snarl and rage. It made him think too clearly and harshly about how he had been manipulated into courting her at all . . .
Once again he swallowed that anger and did what he had to do. “As soon as I can manage it.”
Chapter 13
Now, finally, there was
no reason to argue with Papa when he hinted at the earl’s interest. Eliza didn’t even want to. It was no trial to relate every detail—well, almost every detail—of her visit to St. James’s Square. Her father did not need to know that Lord Hastings had kissed her and touched her and made her think wicked, wanton thoughts. Mrs. Upton, her very proper schoolmistress, would be appalled that Eliza had allowed such liberties.
Papa, though, was delighted. He listened with a fond smile as she recounted Lady Hastings’s beauty, her kindness, the excellence of the tea served. “I told you he admired you,” he teased. “Admit it—I was right.”
Eliza laughed. “With pleasure. I—I like him very much, Papa.”
He leaned forward. “Very much? The way you like strawberries in cream? Or that mongrel mutt?”
“More than strawberries, but less than Willy.” Papa scowled, and she wrinkled her nose at him and laughed. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it. I love Willy.”
“What about Hastings?” Papa raised one brow. “Could you love him?”
Eliza bit her lip. She thought the answer was yes. But she’d only known him a few weeks, unlike Willy. And he was not a dog, whose heart could be won by food and kindness, and who would return her love forever. Lord Hastings had never said he loved her, or even cared for her. He’d asked to call on her, and he’d kissed her. He’d said he wanted to make her mad with pleasure. Eliza hadn’t missed the omission, but then . . . she’d never told him her feelings, either.
“I believe so,” she murmured in response to her father’s question.
His face eased. “Good. The man did hint the other day that he had something more important than business to discuss with me.”
Oh goodness. That could only mean . . .
“He wants to marry me?” she squeaked out.
Papa’s mouth quirked. “I’m afraid so, Lilibeth. Shall I send the blighter on his way, brokenhearted and rejected?”
“No!”
He chuckled. “Then I must give him my blessing?”
Her fingers shook. “Yes,” she said softly. “If he asks.”
“He will, love,” said Papa with quiet confidence. “He will.”
And in spite of herself, Eliza began to believe it.
She told her friends. Sophie was entirely supportive, assuring her that Lord Hastings was the fortunate one and asking Eliza to recount every detail of the acquaintance. It even turned out Sophie had fallen in love herself, with the Duke of Ware. Their wager had indeed been scandalous, far more than Papa had told Eliza, but it had led to the happy result that Sophie lost her heart even though she worried that the duke wouldn’t marry her. Not only was she supporting herself at the gaming tables, she had no family connections to speak of.
Still flushed with joy at her own unexpected romance, Eliza urged her to tell the duke everything. Who could not love Sophie, with her brave, witty manner and her indomitable spirit? And if he loved her, the duke would cast aside any obstacle to marry her, Eliza was sure of it. Why, Lord Hastings had overlooked the very real difference between his station and hers. It gave Eliza goose bumps to think that she would be a countess, and Sophie a duchess.
Georgiana took it even better. When Eliza stepped down from the coach to meet her for a walk in the park, her friend rushed forward despite Lady Sidlow’s call of disapproval. She towed Eliza through the gates of St. James’s Park. “You must tell me all,” she commanded, tucking her arm around Eliza’s. “Do not leave out anything!”
Eliza laughed. They turned into the Mall. Lady Sidlow’s carriage followed at a slight distance; Lady Sidlow did not like to walk, but Georgiana declared she would go mad if she didn’t get some exercise. The compromise was that she was permitted to meet a friend three times a week and make as many circuits of the park as she liked. Eliza knew she was not the friend Lady Sidlow wanted most for Georgiana, but the countess had forbidden Georgiana to see Sophie after that scandalous wager, and Georgiana declared her other friends, members of the ton, weren’t energetic enough.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she replied modestly.
Georgiana hooted in disbelief. “Not much! You write a trifling short note saying the Earl of Hastings might be about to propose marriage to you. I might have fallen over in astonishment. You’ve never mentioned his name! And earls do not propose marriage on whims—this I know. So tell me everything!”
Eliza blushed. “Do you know him?”
“Not to speak to, but I’ve seen him. He’s absolutely lovely, in a very manly way, of course. I am slightly acquainted with his sisters and his mother.”
“I met his mother.” Eliza couldn’t hold back a smile as Georgiana gasped and squeezed her arm in delight. “She was so gracious, Georgiana. Lord Hastings said she liked me.”
“Of course she did! Who could not?” Georgiana laughed. “But tell me about him—I know plenty about the countess. How did you meet him?”
Eliza could feel the silly, happy smile forming on her face. “He had business with Papa. He came to call.” The memory of their first encounter made her squirm a little.
“Was it love at first sight?” Georgiana demanded.
“Er . . . no,” admitted Eliza. “I had been giving Willy a bath and he got loose. I met Lord Hastings by falling in a heap at his feet, trying to keep Willy from licking him to death.”
Georgiana’s peal of laughter drew a rebuke from Lady Sidlow.
“But he came to dinner the next night and I managed to be presentable,” Eliza went on. “He complimented my singing,” she added with a shy, guilty smile.
“And well should he. Your voice is beautiful. But, Eliza, this is all very ordinary! Tell me how he won your heart!”
“Well, he . . .” Eliza blinked as she thought. Hastings hadn’t done anything particularly dashing, like rescue her from a runaway horse or save her from a lecherous dance partner. “He sent me flowers. And he danced with me twice.”
Georgiana’s brows lowered doubtfully.
Eliza flushed. “He kissed me,” she whispered. “More than once.”
Her friend brightened. “And was it lovely?”
“Divine,” she said on a sigh of pure joy. “Everything a kiss should be and more.”
“More?” Georgiana giggled. “It’s a good thing he’s about to speak to your papa, then.”
Eliza agreed.
“So it’s a case of mad passion.” Georgiana beamed at her. “I can tell you’ve fallen in love with him.”
Again Eliza nodded, aware that she was smiling like an idiot.
“Is it a secret? May I tell Lady Sidlow?” Georgiana cast a look over her shoulder at her chaperone. Countess Sidlow was a cousin of her mother who had agreed to sponsor Georgiana through her debut, but Georgiana wasn’t very fond of her. The countess was strict and proper, and she regularly forbade Georgiana from doing things she deemed immodest or too exciting. “Not because I long to confide in her, but because she spends all her time telling me which young lady every unmarried man in town is after.” Georgiana rolled her eyes. “She said the other day she thought Catherine Thayne would be a good match for Lord Hastings, and I would dearly love to tell her he found someone far better.”
“Oh no.” She put her hand on Georgiana’s arm. “Please don’t say anything to anyone, not yet. What if I’ve been mistaken? It would be mortifying if he stops coming to call, and everything turns out to have been my imagination.”
Georgiana snorted. “I daresay it’s not! You’re the least likely person to imagine a gentleman’s interest, so if you think he’s about to propose, I expect he’s already got the license in his pocket.”
“Georgiana!” Eliza gasped.
Her friend grinned. “I won’t say anything. But I shall begin planning which dress to wear to your wedding.”
Hugh took his time approaching the Cross house.
It wasn’t to give himself time to consider and reconsider. That time had already passed. He’d skipped the Vega Club and gone to an opera last night, alon
e, where he let the surge and swell of the music roll over him. What would have happened if he’d decided to pursue a wealthy bride first, before settling his sisters? He would be married now, to a girl of his own class. It would probably have been a marriage of convenience, as well; his bride, to say nothing of her father, would know exactly who had the upper hand. He hadn’t pursued a society bride precisely because he wasn’t eager for that.
Instead he was going to marry Eliza Cross, daughter of a manipulative Cit who had made an obscene fortune speculating in raw materials during the war. And she thought it was a love match.
That was the point that kept him from sleep last night. It wasn’t as if Eliza was the same as her father, calculating and brazen. Eliza was . . . well, aside from her parentage, she was lovely. Genuine, warm, and kind. At first Hugh had been sure Edward Cross would tell her, or at least hint at, what he’d done, and he’d kept a wary eye out for any signs that Eliza knew her father was coercing him.
The fact that he’d seen none was both good and bad. Good, in that Hugh didn’t want to marry a scheming liar. If her nerves had been staged, if her delight at his courtship was planned, it would have driven a permanent wedge into their marriage. He was enormously relieved Eliza was exactly as she appeared to be.
But deep down, Hugh knew it was very bad that she didn’t know. That made him a liar, a cheat, and a manipulator, just as bad as her father. The more he knew Eliza, the more he liked her. It was entirely her father’s doing, but he didn’t doubt that she would be horribly hurt if she ever discovered the truth.
The butler, by now accustomed to him, didn’t bat an eye when he asked to see Miss Cross, not Mr. Cross. Hugh took it as a good sign that he wasn’t even made to wait, but was shown straight into the bright drawing room.
An Earl Like You Page 11
