Each offered a polite greeting; however, Eli could barely muster a reply as his head swam.
He’d been invited—an honored guest—to Lord Cartwright’s wedding in Derbyshire…and he repaid the man’s kindness by kissing his betrothed, unbuttoning the woman’s gown, smelling the lavender scent of her hair. Maybe Eli’s most debauched act had been he and the woman’s witty, flirtatious banter, their easy conversation—a connection far deeper than lust.
Eli was a scoundrel. A rakehell. A dishonorable lord. A depraved man of the worst kind. He’d dreamed most of the night of deflowering another man’s bride. His chest tightened as he ran his fingers through his hair.
Activity started once more around him, a steaming plate loaded with eggs, ham, bread, and berries was placed before him. The savory scent nauseated him—or was it his wretched deceit that gnawed at him from the inside out?
There was little chance he’d be able to keep the food within his belly.
Eli should excuse himself from the meal, return to his bedchambers and pack his bags. Instruct Mathers to ready his carriage for departure. It was the proper course of action—and he truly needed to grab hold of his honorable nature, despite his disgraceful engagements from the previous night.
Blast it all. He was a marquis, a gentleman most noble—and the man his grandfather had been proud to call kin. How had he taken a wrong turn down this harrowing path?
And bloody hell, why did images of the siren keep swimming through his thoughts…even now, when he knew she belonged to another?
“Did you travel far, my lord?”
He brought his eyes from his plate to meet hers across the table, scrutinizing her before replying to her question. She—Miss Samantha—knew exactly how far he’d journeyed to reach Derbyshire, why now did she pretend ignorance? He’d answered her question the day before. Still, the inquiry required his reply, for he was cornered. He sensed the attention of several guests focused on him. “Over ten hours.”
“That is quite a distance.” She brought a bite to her mouth, delicately setting it upon her tongue, smiling as if it were the single best morsel of bread with jam she’d ever eaten. “You are more than welcome to stay at Hollybrooke as long as it suits.”
“I am in no need of a permanent houseguest, thank you very much, Jude.” It seemed their host had arrived. Eli dragged his intense stare from the woman long enough to see a tall, slight man enter the room. “You must be Lord Ridgefeld. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I am certain you could use a companion around this massive house,” Cart retorted, hiding his grin with another bite of toast. “My betrothed was only trying to secure your future, Cummings.”
Elijah had met Lord Cummings once before. Long ago when he and his grandfather had visited London for the purpose of visiting the museum; however, Cummings hadn’t left any lasting impression.
“I have much to do at my own estate, my lords,” Eli retorted. “I have no plans to overstay my welcome.”
Cummings took a seat and spoke quietly with Mr. Jakeston, giving Eli the opportunity to inspect the woman across from him as she and Cartwright shared a private jest. Her laugh was not the deep, throaty chuckle he’d become familiar with—no, it held the tone of a light breeze.
Her voice also rang like the melody of a cheerful song.
It was something easily masked, but the woman before him lacked the presence he’d enjoyed during his time with Miss Samantha. Miss Judith Pengarden was the mirror image of the woman he’d held in his arms in the study. The one he’d happened upon, reading a most scandalous old text. The same miss he’d wrapped his arms around, placing his lips to hers and drinking in her lavender scent as their mouths danced.
But the woman sitting across from him possessed no coy smile. She looked directly at him, not from under lowered lashes. He could not envision this woman stealing into a man’s private study in search of a risqué novel no innocent female should even suspect existed.
“Are you feeling ill, Lord Ridgefeld?” she asked.
He’d been staring—impolitely. Studying her every detail: the length of her hair, the lift of her chin, the exact shade of her green eyes.
“Elijah?” Cartwright inquired, his severe tone said others had noted Eli’s interest, as well.
He shook his head. “My apologies, my lord. Miss Judith. I think I find myself suffering exhaustion from my travels. I believe it would be wise to retire to my chambers and rest for the morning.”
Concern knitted Miss Judith’s brow, and Cartwright nodded his agreement. “Certainly. Long carriage rides are overly taxing on the body. Please send word if you need anything.”
“If you will excuse me.” Eli pushed his chair back and stood, avoiding eye contact with the woman across from him. Something was off—direly wrong. Could the woman so easily betray Lord Cartwright and then sit across the table from Eli with her betrothed at her elbow as if nothing untoward had occurred the previous night. “I will hope to see everyone later in the day.”
Eli stumbled to the door, mumbling apologies as he passed guest after guest until he was finally free of the room. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any eyes followed, but no one paid him any mind—Cart and his betrothed were already deep in conversation amongst themselves. He listened to the chatter of conversation as he made his way back to the staircase.
Nothing was as it should be. Lord Cartwright’s betrothed had hoodwinked him only two nights before they were to be wed—and with a stranger, no less. Though if you’d have asked Eli only an hour prior, he would have challenged anyone who called him and Miss Samantha strangers—correction, Miss Judith. Why the false name? Did the woman think she would not be found out, her duplicity not made known? Maybe betraying your intended was more acceptable if done with a stranger you were not likely to see again—therefore, any lingering guilt or reminders would be out of sight.
That would only put Elijah in the earl’s crosshairs—he’d lusted after Lord Cartwright’s betrothed. It didn’t matter that she’d lied to him. He was the gentleman; he was supposed to be above reproach. He was the one who’d entered the study knowing full well they were alone—and their position would lead them both down an unsavory path.
Elijah Watson, the eighth Marquis of Ridgefeld, had compromised another man’s betrothed. He only had himself to blame for his predicament. His blood ran cold at the thought—he’d become the man his mother would love, and one his grandfather would despise.
Only now, it left him wondering if he was his mother’s son or the man his grandfather had raised to carry on their family name.
Elijah had many decisions to make—his course of correcting the wrongs he’d done first and foremost.
Chapter 6
Sam closed her bedchamber door. The hinges gave no groan of protest, well-oiled, much like every door in Lord Cummings’ grand house. Not an item was out of place. Every floor, every stair rail, and every table was polished to shine. Marce took precise care of Craven House—it was all she could call her own—but there were still chores that never managed to be finished. It was not the case at Hollybrooke Manor. Servants were readily available should a guest need assistance, though that had not been the case the previous night.
Her evening and into the early hours of the morning had been spent imagining all the ways her time in the study could have gone had the servant not appeared to ruin everything and send Elijah fleeing for the safety of his chambers. The man hadn’t even done her the courtesy of leaving the book she’d risked discovery to find.
Irritating.
However, she needed to put the thought out of her mind, especially if she were to make it through her busy day and not lash out at her siblings during their preparations for tomorrow.
The halls had been deserted as she’d attempted to follow Elijah and demand he return the book to her, but he’d disappeared. If she’d known where his room was located, Sam might have been so bold as to knock on his door; however, with so many guests in
residence, and the sheer number of rooms at Hollybrooke, even she was not brazen enough to traverse the halls in search of signs of Lord Ridgefeld.
Jude had summoned her for breakfast at a most ungodly hour, likely requiring her assistance to entertain all her wedding guests. Instead, Sam had taken her time donning her morning gown, brushing her hair until it fairly shone before pinning it precisely in place—upswept to expose her long, slender neck—though she much preferred it hanging loosely about her shoulders. She’d taken even more time selecting the perfect slippers—not that she’d brought more than three pairs, but she pondered if white or cream better suited her pink gown. Then she sat at her dressing table to select the perfect adornments to accompany her outfit—finally settling on simple opal earbobs with a matching broach.
The plan was to arrive at the end of breakfast, hope Elijah was in the room, and simply take the seat next to him then demand he return what was hers—er, not hers exactly, but she figured that was splitting hairs.
Sam lifted her chin and hurried her pace toward the main staircase. It would not serve her well to miss the meal entirely and thus have to hunt Elijah down later or risk returning to the study for volume two of In Physica Educationem in Caritate. That was arguably the simpler task, but after a full night spent wrapped in a dream world with Elijah, she was eager to see him in the flesh—ascertain if he’d spent the dark hours in his own imaginary dreamland.
Even the thought of his name sent tendrils of need through her.
Her time in Derbyshire certainly would not go to waste. Cummings’ study—and Lord Ridgefeld—offered the perfect distraction to keep her boredom at bay.
“Good morn, Miss…”
Sam focused on the man heading her way, his booted feet rung distinctively as one did not lift as high as the other, making a sort of scraping sound as he moved.
Not many could determine if they stood before Jude or Sam.
Countless people, even her own siblings, looked with questioning stares when they entered to find one of them in attendance, waiting for them to speak before identifying them by Jude’s softer, more feminine voice, or Sam’s deep, raspy one.
“Lord Chastain,” Sam said, putting the man at ease. “It is lovely to see you and Ellington have arrived in time for the ceremony on the morrow. Jude is overjoyed you both could be here.”
“We arrived late last evening, but everyone was abed.” He gave her a warm smile. “I know Ellie is looking forward to time with you and your sisters. She misses you all so very much.”
Since Lady Ellington married and became Lady Chastain, she’d been busy renovating her new home, a townhouse that had sat unoccupied for almost two decades. Sam could only imagine the workload both Ellie and her husband, Alex, faced.
“I very much look forward to seeing her, as well,” Sam replied. “I am on my way to the breakfast room, will I find her there?”
“I delivered her to your sister’s side only moments ago, but needed to return to our room.” He gave her a quick bow. “Do enjoy the meal. I will return shortly. Until then, please keep an eye on her.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “I will, my lord.”
Ellington was of similar age to Sam and Jude, but since her marriage, Ellie had evolved into a true lady: her manners were impeccable, her poise and grace were becoming legendary in London, and her days as a pickpocket were clearly behind her. Much like her own sister, Jude, Ellie was not willing to jeopardize her husband’s good standing by continuing any questionable activities.
In recent months, Marce had entrusted Ellie with keeping watch over Sam and Jude while at society gatherings. It would have been comical and utterly preposterous less than a year before.
Lord Chastain made his way down the hallway and entered the chambers two doors down from her room, his slight limp barely noticeable.
The sound of another pair of Hessians making their way up the stairs had Sam longing to duck back into her bedchamber to wait until no one was about. If she kept getting waylaid, she’d never reach the breakfast room before Elijah took his leave. She took comfort in knowing at least one chamber was crossed off her list when Lord Chastain entered his room.
Sam turned the corner, prepared to nod a greeting to whoever was coming her way and then avert her eyes and continue on without further conversation.
However, the familiar jawline and chocolate brown hair of the man who crested the top of the stairs brought Sam up short, her breath leaving her on a sigh. Why was Ridgefeld so bloody appealing? He was certainly no more attractive or charming than the dozens of other men she’d met in London. If anything, he was far too stuffy for her, a bit too proper, and…all thought fled when she noticed his intense glare landing on her, recognition dawning and then a look of utter puzzlement.
“Lord Ridgefeld.” She gave him her most amiable smile. Anything to charm him into giving her the book back—and maybe convincing him to continue her education in the arts of the flesh. “I was on my way to the breakfast room to break my fast. Have you already eaten?”
Her question was met by his continued inspection, his eyes taking her in from head to toe and back again, finally settling on the broach at her throat. There was no sign of his dimple she’d become accustomed to seeing.
Unease gripped her, and she reached for her suddenly too tight collar.
“I am certain you were only moments ago enjoying breakfast.” His glare snapped to hers as if inspecting her response to his words. “You favor eggs, ham, and fresh bread with jam, if I am not mistaken.”
Her eyes widened. It was a favorite of all the women at Craven House, but how he knew this tidbit was surprising.
“You are certainly correct, and Hollybrooke Manor has one of the best cooks in all of England, or so Lord Cummings boasted on my first day here.” Her words did nothing to soften his look. “Will you join me, my lord?”
“You know damn well we sat across from one another only moments ago and spoke of my travels and my family.” His voice rose with annoyance. “Though, I cannot imagine how you hurried so quickly and changed your gown.”
“Hurried to change?” Sam took a step back—despising herself for feeling the need to cower at his angry words. Had he gone insane? He was spouting nonsense, but the venom behind his words was unmistakable. “I only just left my chambers.”
“I may have been fool enough once to believe the best in a woman, but that time has passed.” A vein pulsed in his forehead, and his nostrils flared. “Tell me, Miss Judith Pengarden, did you always plan to betray your betrothed, or was our chance meeting truly serendipitous?”
Sam gasped for air as she attempted to hide her amusement. Of all the times for someone to mix up the sisters…this was certainly not the most convenient.
“Was our time last night only meant to be one final tryst, or do you plan to continue your charade of affection for Cartwright?” His shoulders hunched forward then, the anger leaving him. “Damn it, Lord Cartwright is a fine man. Will make a respectable husband and a marvelous father.”
Her heart plummeted. “Elijah…I…” Her toneless response did nothing to curb his fury.
“Save your explanations.” His hand sliced through the air, cutting off her words. “I am not interested in rationalizations or any justification you have created to elucidate away your duplicity.”
“Allow me to explain this…it is only a misunderstanding, I promise you.”
“Do you think your promises mean anything?” he huffed. “I have things to attend to. I should be going.”
He made to push past her. Without thinking, Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. She supposed he’d learn his mistake soon enough, but not a part of her wanted them to be at odds until she could catch both Jude and Elijah in the same room together. Why hadn’t she mentioned that Simon was to wed her sister—her identical twin sister?
“Please wait and allow me to speak.”
“The only person I should be speaking to is Lord Cartwright.” His threat stung, driving his accusati
on deep. “I have much to explain to him—apologies to give. Then I must take my leave immediately.”
“You mean to tell him of our time in the study?” She leaned close, her hand still rested on his arm. “That is not necessary, if you will only listen.”
“Listen to you weave another—more elaborate—web of lies?”
Every speck of closeness she’d thought existed between them vanished.
She’d never meant to deceive or mislead him in any way. Everyone in attendance was either family or a close friend. It had been many months since she’d had to explain to anyone that if they thought they’d met her or seen her somewhere, it was completely probable they’d met Judith instead.
The situation would be comical if it had something to do with anyone other than the man she’d spent the night dreaming of—wrapped in his solid arms, his lips blazing a trail down her neck and over her breasts, and his heart beating in unison with hers.
A blush heated her cheeks at the thought of his engorged member. Did it actually resemble the image from the book? It may be a bit longer before she discovered the answer to her question because at that moment, the only man who could tell her—or return her book and allow her to find her own answer—was seething mad.
“Do allow me to pass, miss.” His voice was level and even, betraying none of the fury she sensed rolling just below the surface.
Chapter 7
Eli peered at the woman, everything within him screaming for him to pull away from her and find his chambers. The hall was no place to discuss such intimate matters. Though, no part of him wanted to address the situation, only run and forget her treachery.
It was the thing he’d guarded himself against since his mother’s final betrayal. Eli had been right to not trust another, never allow someone so close they could wound him.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 6
