by Tarah Scott
“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.
He didn’t ask, but placed her in a chair and left her to go to the refreshment’s table. As he picked up two glasses at the table, a woman sidled up alongside him and brushed her hip against his. Eve stared. Good Lord, had the woman actually rubbed against him? He didn’t react, and for an instant Eve thought she was mistaken. Then he turned and said something to the woman Eve couldn’t hear. The woman’s gaze cut to Eve and her cheeks flushed. She yanked her eyes back to him, chin high, and replied. The woman spoke so low, Eve waged no one could hear her, but the flash of anger in her eyes made plain the set down she intended to serve up.
Lord Rushton’s brows shot up in amusement and the woman’s hand balled into a fist at her side. Lord Adkins neared them and she jerked her gaze onto him. She broke into a sudden dazzling smile, and Eve realized it was a ploy to distract him from her flash of anger. Lord Adkins fell straight into her trap and bowed over her hand with a flourish. Her eyes caught on Eve, narrowed, then shifted back onto Lord Adkins as he straightened.
“She looks as if she would like to scratch his eyes out, does she not?”
Eve started at the female voice beside her and swung her gaze onto Lady Dorothy Benson. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Benson sat on the chair beside hers. “No need to pretend you didn’t see her little tantrum.” Her gaze shifted in the direction of the group. “Louisa does not respond well when a man rebuffs her.”
“I do not know her,” Eve said.
“It is no loss.” She paused, then added, “He is a fine specimen of masculinity.” Lady Benson looked at her. “And you are to marry him.”
Eve stiffened. This was the one thing she had hoped to avoid tonight: direct confrontation with one of Lord Rushton’s lovers. Eve glanced at Lord Rushton, but his attention remained on Lord Adkins.
“You have no cause to be jealous,” Lady Benson said.
“I am not jealous,” Eve blurted.
Amusement danced in her eyes, but she said in an amiable tone, “You are wise.”
Yes, Eve thought. Wise. For if she allowed herself to worry about his lovers, she would worry all day—every day.
“Louisa simply couldn’t enjoy her good luck while it lasted,” Lady Benson said. “She got greedy.”
“Greedy?” Eve said.
“Yes. She thought she could trap Lord Rushton into marriage.” Eve stiffened and Lady Benson lifted her brows. “Oh, you are under the impression I think you trapped him. No. Unlike those who thrive on turning every piece of gossip against a lady, I find the truth much more interesting.”
She paused and Eve realized she was waiting in hopes of hearing more. Eve thanked heaven that Grace’s deception hadn’t come to light, then realized she might turn this conversation to her advantage.
“A case of mistaken identity,” she said.
Lady Benton’s gaze sharpened. “He mistook you for your sister.” Eve didn’t reply, letting silence condemn, and Lady Benton gave a little laugh. “Forgive me for saying so, Miss Crenshaw, while your sister is perfectly lovely, Erroll would never have married her.”
Eve stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you honestly think she would have held his attention?”
“You know very little of Grace, my lady—nothing, I daresay.”
“You may be right, but I know a great deal about him.” She nodded toward Lord Rushton.
“Indeed?” Eve said, and the lady laughed again.
“You have no cause to be jealous of me, Miss Crenshaw. Unlike Louisa, I know how to enjoy a man—especially a man who enjoys pleasing a woman—and I never make the cardinal mistake of asking for more than he is willing to give. That is why Lord Rushton and I have remained friends.”
“I see,” Eve said.
Lady Benton studied her. “I don’t think you do.”
“Pardon me for saying so,” Eve said, “but you presume a great deal for a lady who doesn’t know me or my family.”
“I don’t have to know you to recognize your reluctance to marry Rushton. If he preferred your sister that would be cause for discomfort. However, his interest in her could have been fleeting at best, so you need not fear that he will be pining for her while married to you.”
The conversation had taken a strange turn, and Eve wished mightily for Lord Rushton’s return. As if reading her mind, his eyes shifted onto her. Amusement curved his lips. He murmured something to Lord Adkins then, two champagne glasses in hand, returned to her side.
He handed one glass to Eve, then bowed over Lady Benton’s hand. “How nice to see you, Lady Benton.” He straightened. “Would you like some champagne?” He offered her his glass.
“No thank you, my lord.” She rose. “I am, in fact, returning to the ballroom. I promised the next dance to Lord Townes.” She looked at Eve. “Good evening, Miss Crenshaw, my lord.”
When she left, Lord Rushton sat down. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Perfectly fine, my lord, and you?”
“Never been better.” He sounded like he meant it.
They drank champagne and exchanged small talk with other guests until he had finished off three glasses to her one. By the time they returned to the ballroom, he seemed not to have been the least bit affected by their short but heated encounter in the closet. She, however, still felt as if her legs were made of pudding, and she hadn’t been able to forget his encounter with the woman in the refreshments room—or the lady she’d spoken with.
Any woman who married the earl would have to grow accustomed to, and accept, such encounters. Tonight alone, two woman had made advances toward him, and only God knew how many others had approached him before that. Would the advances lessen once he married? Only if he discouraged them—and he had already said he wouldn’t.
“Are you all right, Miss Crenshaw?”
His voice broke into her thoughts. “Yes,” she replied. “Just a bit unner
ved.”
“You should have had another glass of champagne.”
She shot him a reproachful look. “Liquor will not solve my problem. It was your fault we went in there.”
“That it was.”
He steered her along the wall and out the open doors onto the balcony. Her heart jumped into her throat. The cad was going out of his way to encourage gossip. Cool air washed over her and she drew in a deep breath.
“Shall we sit down?” He nodded to a bench at the bottom of the stairs.
Eve hesitated. They had managed to avoid detection in the parlor, but the garden was a public place.
“I cannot kiss you in plain view of the ballroom,” he said.
Eve jerked her gaze onto his face.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I thought perhaps you could use a little fresh air.”
The fact was, she could. What would the lasting effects be of sitting in the garden with him? Nothing. As he’d said, they would be in plain sight.
She allowed him to lead her down the three steps. Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the nearest garden hedge twenty feet from the mansion. Her heart jumped. She recognized the hulking figure before it melted back into the shadows. Oscar Hinks. The gravity of her plans hit full force and she faltered as her foot touched the grass.
Lord Rushton’s arm shot around her waist and he hugged her to his side. “Miss Crenshaw.”
She startled at the hard muscle that came into contact with her hip and arm. “I am fine,” she said, though the breathless note in her voice made her wonder.
“Come sit down,” he started toward the bench, still holding her tight, and she realized it was now or never. If she didn’t get him off to Gretna Green, she never would.
“If you don’t mind, my lord, I would prefer to walk.”
He halted. “A walk?” The words were drawled with nonchalance, but she knew he was surprised by her suggestion.
