by Sara Bennett
Taken by surprise, she clung to him again. He slowed their gallop, as the branches and leaves reached out to enclose them, and the earthy smells of nature pressed upon her senses. It was shady in here, the light turned green and mysterious.
“Duck,” he said matter-of-factly. Instinctively she bent her head and a low branch brushed over them. He glanced back at her with a smile. “Well done, Miss Belmont. A woman who can take orders without arguing.”
Eugenie tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, ignoring his barb. “Where are we going, Your Grace?” she said, unable to hide her nervousness.
“Do call me Sinclair.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Where are we going, Sinclair?” she repeated breathlessly.
“A place I know. Ideal for our game of abduction.”
It was a game, she reminded herself with relief. Of course it was. There was nothing to worry about.
Ahead of them the woods opened into a small clearing. The space was entirely enclosed by trees and undergrowth. The grass was sparse, the air a little chilled from the shade of the taller trees, and there was a hushed silence to the place that made her skin prickle. Sinclair dismounted and reached up to grasp her waist and lift her down. Her feet touched the ground and, suddenly shy, she stepped away, turning to examine her surroundings.
“How did you know of this place?”
“Jack mentioned it to me. Evidently fairies dance here when the moon is full.”
“Do they?” She turned back to observe him. He looked very different from the polished and proper duke who’d appeared last night at The Acorn. Windblown and disheveled, he could indeed be a highwayman or a kidnapper. Someone to treat with caution. Someone to fear.
But Eugenie wasn’t afraid. Instinctively she knew Sinclair would never hurt her, and she was the sort of woman who trusted her instincts.
No, he would never hurt her, but he may well try to seduce her.
That was what dukes did with women like her, wasn’t it?
Her skin tingled at the memory of their kisses; the taste and feel of him in her arms. No wonder the village mothers warned their daughters about the dangers of the flesh! It was far too easy to become addicted.
He came toward her. Reaching out to take her hands in his, he raised one to his mouth and pressed his lips to her. She felt the warmth through her thin gloves and closed her eyes the better to enjoy the experience. When she opened them again he was watching her.
“You set me another dare and I have passed, have I not, Eugenie?”
“Yes, Sinclair, you have passed.”
“Do I get my reward?”
Eugenie knew what sort of reward he wanted. There didn’t seem much point in acting coy, especially when she wanted the contact as much as he did. Stretching up on her tiptoes she brushed her lips over his. With a growl he caught her up in his arms and held her tight against his body, plundering her mouth in a very ungentlemanlike manner.
This was the Sinclair she’d never imagined lay beneath his cold and aloof social exterior. The man few others knew. This was her Sinclair, passionate and fiery and very human. Eugenie wound her arms about his neck and kissed him back, giving herself up to the heat of passion.
When at last, breathless and dizzy, she drew away, the sparkle in his eyes had turned into a blaze.
Eugenie felt the same tingle of doubt begin to build again, the unease she’d been experiencing off and on all morning. Was she really not afraid of him? Somerton had seemed the perfect gentleman but perhaps he wasn’t as easy to manage as she’d imagined. Could she really control him? Could she really expect a man who’d had his own way all his life to listen to a woman like her?
Evidently he read her expression again because he gave a rough laugh and said, “Don’t fear, Miss Belmont, I’m not going to ravish you. Not today. Although I cannot make promises about what I may do tomorrow.”
“You’re jesting,” she said flatly. “Aren’t you?”
“Am I?” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you want to be ravished?”
Warm pink flooded her face. “That is hardly something a lady would admit,” she replied automatically. “Gentlewomen do not ask to be ravished.”
“More’s the pity,” he mocked, a sulky droop to his mouth.
“Oh?” She found herself suddenly curious about his domestic arrangements. “I would have thought the Duke of Somerton would have plenty of women begging to be ravished by him. It is my understanding of the aristocracy—which I admit is limited—that they have a mistress in every house.”
Laughter lit his eyes and the sullen little boy look was gone. “Is this your way of asking me whether I presently have a mistress, Eugenie?”
“I suppose it is,” she said, with a mischievous smile.
He leaned against the tree trunk at her side, gazing down into her face. “You are making me wonder why you would want to ask so personal a question. Most young ladies of gentle upbringing would consider such a topic of conversation an abomination. They are taught not to notice such things and if they do to look the other way.”
“Then I am not like most young ladies.”
“No, Eugenie, you are unique.”
His eyes delved into hers. He was very close now, and once again she felt that frisson. She was beginning to think it was a perverse sort of excitement. He was pursuing her in earnest now and Eugenie would have to make a decision soon. Did she want to be caught?
He reached out, his thumb against her skin, stroking her cheek. She sighed at his touch, closing her eyes the better to enjoy it, while his voice brushed over her like another caress.
“I am wondering, Eugenie, why you would ask such a question if there wasn’t a reason for it. So I ask myself why would you want to know if I have a mistress? Can you be imagining yourself in that enviable position?”
His words penetrated her haze of pleasure. She stiffened and abruptly her heart turned leaden and heavy. The game had become serious. Of course she had known that eventually he would take this direction; it was the only direction he could take. Sinclair was a duke and Eugenie was . . . well, a nobody.
Sinclair was watching her, a frown between his brows. He seemed to know he’d said the wrong thing. His hand dropped to his side. “You appear shocked,” he said, with a humorless laugh. “As the descendant of a royal mistress I would have thought you more broadminded, Eugenie.”
She wasn’t shocked. Not really. She was disappointed. She had been enjoying herself and now she would have to put an end to this game between them.
“Wait!”
Eugenie realized with surprise that she was already several paces across the clearing.
“Please, listen to what I have to say. Eugenie?”
He sounded ruffled, shaken. As if she’d pushed him into speaking of things he wasn’t ready to speak of. As if he was in a position he had never been in before and didn’t quite know how to handle it.
She waited, standing with her back to him, hearing his approach. He waited a beat, and then his hands rested lightly upon her shoulders. She felt his breath stirring her curls and longed to lean her head back against him.
“I accept you are a well brought up young lady of gentle birth, but even you must admit, Eugenie, that your family is far from top drawer. Your father is in debt, and when he does have money from one of his doubtful deals, he throws it away.”
“You do not have to tell me what my father is capable of,” she said angrily. “I do not want to speak of him.”
“Forgive my careless words, Eugenie.”
He took a breath, as if he would say more, but whatever it was he thought better of it. Instead he bent his head and kissed the nape of her neck, making her shiver. Again his tenderness tempted her to stay with him, but she reminded herself that he’d disappointed her. In another moment he’d be asking her straight out to be his mistress and sudden
ly she didn’t want that. She didn’t want their budding romance spoiled by such worldly considerations.
She moved toward the horse, and he allowed his hands to drop from her. She didn’t look back. “Can you take me home now, Your Grace? Or do I have to find my own way?”
For a moment she thought he might be going to tell her just that, and then he was helping her up onto the horse. His face, the brief sight she had of it, looked closed and troubled, his lips white and thin. Perhaps she had insulted him as badly as he’d been about to insult her, but she didn’t care. To be his mistress wasn’t what she wanted. That wasn’t what the Husband Hunters Club was about.
And yet Eugenie understood just how naïve she had been to believe even for a heartbeat that she could ever marry a man so far above her in station. Just because he liked her—and yes, he did like her—and just because he obviously desired her, did not mean he would dream of marrying her. It would not even occur to him.
As they rode back in silence, she still found herself hoping despite all evidence to the contrary that he might realize that to ask her to be his mistress would be a mistake. That, like a beam of sunshine falling on him, the truth would be revealed to him and he would throw aside all that held him back, and ask for her hand.
But it was another of her silly daydreams and Eugenie knew that this was one occasion when she could not twist the ending to suit herself. He was a duke and dukes took mistresses, usually dancers or actresses, women far below themselves on the social scale. That was how he saw her. As a woman far beneath him in every way.
When they reached the place in the lane where he’d abducted her, he stopped and set her down. Subdued, she thanked him and turned away. He did not speak and after a moment she heard him ride off.
Her heart still felt heavy and she knew it was partly due to disappointment and partly an acknowledgment of the cold, hard facts of life. But it was also because she’d become fond of him. She enjoyed his company and his conversation and the feel of his arms about her.
Eugenie clenched her jaw and told herself she would not cry. She would not! But a tear slid down her cheek, and then another one. Life was not fair. But at least she knew it now. She would make a new plan, and this time she would be practical about it.
Chapter 8
Terry Belmont glanced sideways at the girl beside him. Lady Annabelle’s face was streaked with drying tears and her mouth was turned down at the corners. Although he would have loved to take her into his arms and comfort her, he didn’t. He knew she wouldn’t want him to. They were friends, companions in adversity, and it would be wrong to cross that boundary. If she thought he was just another rake trying to inveigle his way into her affections—or out of her fortune—then she would no longer turn to him for help. She would no longer trust him.
And Terry found he valued Annabelle’s trust more than anything.
“I can’t bear the thought of marrying Lucius and living in his house in London. I do not say he is a cruel man or—or cruel to me. He is a gentleman, but when I tell him all the things I want to do, he smiles at me as if I am a—a child. There is so much more to my life, so much to do. I never wanted to marry him, but my mother tells me I must and . . . She and Sinclair want me to be someone I do not want to be. Just because they only live for the Somerton name and care for nothing but our position in society, they think I should be the same. But I’m not, and I won’t!”
Her passion spent, she mopped her eyes with her lacy sleeve like a child.
“What can you do?” Terry asked. “You say the wedding arrangements are all in place. Can you really back out now?”
Her dark eyes were almost wild. “I have a friend in Scotland, a girl I knew at school. We write often. She is married now, but she has promised to shelter me, if only I could get to her.” She took a shaky breath, and reached to grasp his forearm, her fingers painfully intense. “Will you help me, Terry?”
Terry felt something major shift inside him. No one had ever asked him for help before. His younger brothers all turned to Eugenie if they were in need of help, while Eugenie never seemed to need help from anyone, especially not Terry. She still saw him as a little boy, someone who needed guidance and scolding, in equal measure. But now Annabelle was asking him for help as if he was the only one in the world she trusted.
“Of course I will help you,” he said, and meant it with all his heart.
Her lips trembled into a smile. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I wish I wasn’t so ignorant of the world and how to make my way in it. I would run off to Scotland alone, but I fear I would lose my way or make some foolish error, and then I’d be captured and brought home to Somerton, and then they’d watch me so closely I would never have another chance.” She gave him a confident look. “You know how to get to Scotland, don’t you, Terry?”
Terry wasn’t sure he did but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He gave a worldly wise shrug. “Of course.”
“Good. I’d better get back to Lizzie before she tattles to my brother.”
Lizzie Gamboni had seemed small and insignificant to Terry, someone who needed looking after rather than someone inclined to cause trouble.
“I’m sure Miss Gamboni wouldn’t tattle,” he said without thinking, and then wished he hadn’t when Annabelle gave him a narrow look. “I meant to say, she seems very loyal to you.”
“Yes, well, I won’t have to worry about her much longer.” She sighed. “I’m so glad we met, Terry. I don’t know what I would do without you to help me.”
Terry felt like a hero—he was the soldier who took the hill fort single-handed, and saved the day. It was only later, on his way home to Belmont Hall, that doubts began to set in. He supposed, when she asked for help, he should have refused. That was the sensible course of action. Helping the duke’s sister could only mean trouble for someone like Terry.
But how could he refuse? She needed his help and he needed to give it. Somehow he would have to get her to her friend in Scotland. Because Terry knew he couldn’t tell anyone else. Eugenie would only scold him and insist he explain himself to the duke. And if he told his father . . . Mr. Belmont would rub his hands together and inveigle him in some devious scheme to make money from Annabelle’s misfortune. No, there was no one he could tell. He must deal with this himself.
As he opened the door to Belmont Hall, Terry could hear the twins arguing interspersed with his mother’s long-suffering wails. Avoiding them, he hurriedly climbed the ramshackle stairs to the room he shared with his brothers. Jack was there with his injured magpie sitting on his shoulder, his head buried in a book on horses.
“Benny and Bertie are at it again,” he said, without looking up. “They decided to decorate the sitting room with some black dye they found in the washhouse. They thought Mama would be pleased.”
They grinned at each other in horrified glee.
“Don’t go down there unless you want to scrub walls,” Jack advised, turning back to his book.
Terry had no intention of getting involved in the terrible twins’ antics. He flung himself down on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. With Annabelle he had a chance to show what he was made of, to be the sort of man he’d always wanted to be.
“Jack,” he said. “If you were asked to help someone, someone you liked, someone who really needed your help, would you do it? Even if by helping them you might get yourself into lots of trouble?”
Jack thought about it while his brother waited. Although Jack was young, Terry had always thought him the cleverest of them all. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I would.”
Terry smiled and lay down again. That settled it. He and Annabelle were going to Scotland . . . as soon as he sorted out how to get there.
Lizzie knew something was afoot. Annabelle made excuses and avoided her eyes, but she’d slipped away for an hour today and Lizzie was certain she’d had an assignation with Terry Belmont.
Sur
ely she wasn’t in love with him?
Annabelle, for all her spoiled and headstrong behavior, was at heart a girl who was very aware of what was in her own best interests. It pleased her to startle and upset her family by declaring all sorts of opinions that weren’t really hers, but beneath all that she was really quite conventional. Or so Lizzie had thought until now.
Lucius was a perfect match for her, and she must know it, despite her declarations that she would die of boredom once married to him. Terry Belmont was not in her sphere when it came to the important decisions of love and marriage. Why, thought Lizzie, he was far more suitable for someone like . . . like herself.
But of course he would never notice her, no one ever did. She was like a little vicarage mouse, invisible, while all eyes were full of Annabelle. Not that she was resentful—she’d long ago accepted her fate. She just wished that for once in her life a man she liked would see her.
Really see her.
Chapter 9
Wednesday was market day in the town of Torrisham, and Sir Peter had persuaded Eugenie to come with him and help with the sale of a horse he had been training up. “A fine lady’s mount,” he insisted, although Eugenie doubted any “lady” would be able to sit upon the beast for longer than a minute without being thrown into a hedgerow.
Usually it was Terry who went with their father to sell horses, but when it came time to leave he couldn’t be found. “Probably with his friends at the Five Bells,” Sir Peter muttered. “Never mind, Genie, you’ll bring in more customers than Terry could. Just give them one of your smiles, and let me do the talking.”
Eugenie wasn’t so sure Terry was at his favorite hostelry. He had been different lately, absent in his thoughts as well as in body, and she had her suspicions he was up to something. Although, whatever it was, he wasn’t telling her, and Eugenie had her own troubles to keep her occupied.
She hadn’t heard a word from her duke since his “abduction” of her. And although she’d told herself she wasn’t going to think of him again, she found herself replaying the scene over and over in her head. In hindsight she knew she should not have allowed matters to go so far, so quickly. Her only excuse was that she was enjoying herself too much to stop.
