From what she’d overheard behind closed doors growing up, Beauchamp had shown a slight interest in having a child with her mother—that was until she and Jude were born, and not only was Sam a girl, but a pair of girls. The man had run for the hills.
Once, many years ago, when her mother would not buy her a baby doll she so wanted from the mercantile, Sam had screamed that if her father were there, he would have bought her the pretty doll—an entire shelf of dolls…because he loved her. It had been unfair, and she had yelled in a moment of childish indignation and fury. Sam remembered the way her mother had smiled and calmly walked from the shop, leaving Sam on the floor, crying. Jude had stood beside her, torn between following their mother and other siblings, or remaining with her twin. In the end, Sam had brushed the dirt from her frock and departed the store, Jude walking steadfastly at her side.
She’d never apologized for her harsh words, but that evening, Sam and Jude had heard Sasha talking with another woman in her study, something about being blessed to have given birth to girls, or the horrid man would have returned to take her child—or children as the case may be—and raise it as his own with his barren, cold-hearted wife.
She hadn’t known whom they spoke of at the time.
And as Sam grew older and matured, she’d come to understand the neglect and heartache her mother had witnessed at Beauchamp’s hand. It was too much to dream he’d changed, that he was now capable of putting the needs of others before his—or his family’s—demands.
The bit of enjoyment she’d begun to take at Hollybrooke had been dispelled quickly, made all the worse knowing it would follow her back to London.
A light tap sounded at her door.
Sam attempted to swipe away any remaining tears from her face, but her palm only met dry skin. Had Marce come to confront her about her rude behavior? Maybe it was Jude come to cry on her shoulder—but Sam couldn’t be the strong one in this situation. She was not the person anyone should lean on for support…she was falling apart, too.
The knock sounded again.
“Go away!” Her voice trembled, and she fell silent, but another, more insistence knock followed.
Sam stood and moved toward the door to send away whoever sought to disrupt her moment of weakness. She’d never been one to seek time alone. It gave way to many thoughts that were better left hidden, locked away deeply within her.
The knob was cold against the palm of her hand as she twisted and pulled the door open a crack.
If it were one of her sisters, they would have entered the room without warning or demanded entrance. It would embarrass not only her family but also her if a servant waited on the other side of the door.
“Yes?” Her eyes attempted to adjust to the bright light in the hall. She blinked rapidly to focus—her room had been shrouded in shadows as Sam hadn’t bothered to pull the drapes or light a candle upon her return. She’d dismissed her maid until after the noonday meal for Sam had expected to be downstairs with the other guests. “I seek a few moments alone. You may return in an hour’s time to tidy the room.”
“Miss Samantha?” Sam narrowed her eyes, taking in Lord Ridgefeld standing outside her door. “Is everything as it should be? I was on the terrace and heard sobbing.”
Spectacular.
A witness to her weakness.
It was not good enough Beauchamp had shown up and ruined her remaining days with her twin sister close, but now all the guests below had heard her wallowing in her own self-pity, bawling over the appearance of a man she hadn’t met until now, and who, in fact, meant less than nothing to her.
She glanced past the marquis, searching for the huddle of guests who likely waited within hearing distance to absorb all the sordid details.
“Did my brother send you to check on me?” Her brow rose as if she were challenging him to deny it. It was highly improper for a man to call on a woman in her chambers, but that did not register with Sam before her question had been voiced.
“Certainly not.”
“Is everyone speaking about me—and our unexpected guest?” Sam prodded. “You can let everyone know I am doing well. Your obligation is fulfilled.”
“Is everyone speaking of what?” His eyes narrowed in confusion.
Sam pulled the door wide and stepped around Lord Ridgefeld, glancing down the hall in both directions. If an audience waited, they were out of sight and suspiciously quiet. Likely afraid to breathe and miss any tidbits of conversation that floated their way.
Her upbringing screamed no one was about, and that Elijah was here of his own accord.
“I assure you, I am alone, Miss Samantha.” He’d taken a step back to allow her to pass, but without thinking, she grabbed his arm and hauled him into her chambers, shutting the door behind him. “I do not think this is proper—“
“Oh, do not be so felicitous, my lord.” Sam moved back to her bed and plopped down. “I do not wish for an audience to hear me bawling. And, need I remind you, if you were concerned with propriety, you would not have knocked on my door.”
“Very true. However, you were crying.” It was not meant to be a question, so Sam held her tongue. “Tell me, Miss Samantha, what has upset you? I will attempt to set things right.”
“Are you ever not the relentless gentleman?”
“I…well…no,” he stumbled over his words, his posture stiffening.
Which brought to mind another image—a drawing to be exact, of another thing, stiff and large. Sam felt the blush creep up her cheeks. In her dreams…in the hall…Sam could not avoid the images from the wicked book.
“Call me Sam,” she blurted. Why did the man make her feel so at ease and at the same time on edge with something very close to need? She’d never needed another—beyond her twin, of course. “I mean, my family calls me Sam, you are free to do the same.”
He gave her a weak smile as he strode across the room and lowered himself to sit in a straight-backed chair.
The mere sight of him pushed all thoughts of her father’s surprising appearance from her mind. She was alone, in a room with Elijah…and the last thing she wanted occupying her thoughts was Beauchamp.
Elijah shifted in the atrocious chair, attempting to find a more agreeable position; unfortunately, the seat did not afford one.
Finally, he settled for slouching ever so slightly, extending his legs and crossing them at his ankles.
Sam laughed when he folded his arms across his chest.
“Is something funny?” he inquired.
“You have the appearance of a petulant child.” She shouldn’t find even a hint of joy on a day such as this, but Sam noticed her wit flee whenever Elijah was near.
“Mayhap I feel like a petulant child at the moment,” he retorted in jest, though Sam saw the change in his expression, as if a bank of clouds had settled over him. “Now, what has you upset, Sam?”
She set her hands on either side of her on the bed and sat a bit straighter. The man had the uncanny ability to push her troubles away. He’d done that exact thing when his carriage had pulled up alongside her on the road, offering her transport back to Hollybrooke before the storm unleashed its fury on her. Before his arrival, Sam had only thought of being gone from Derbyshire and back in London—surrounded by hordes of elegantly dressed people where she’d thought she belonged. But in the last day, she hadn’t thought once of returning—and suspected the crowds of people only kept her inner turmoil at bay.
“I am feeling better, never fear.” The last subject Sam wanted to address with Elijah was why she’d been crying. It was silly, truly. A woman crying over her father and his rakehell ways. Certainly, there were far more sorrowful things in the world.
He eyed her suspiciously. “I do not believe that for a second. Your sobs were heartbreaking. I will know why.”
It was a command, yet his posture remained at ease.
“Samantha.” His tone softened, and he sat forward, moving his hands to rest on his knees. “Sam, do not think I have not been th
rough my own trials and heartbreak.”
Heartbreak—he kept coming back to the word. The farthest thing from her mind was heartbreak, but what did Elijah know of it? Had he loved a woman only to have her rip his heart from his chest and crush it under her dance slipper? Or worse yet, was he still in love with a lady who did not return his affection?
It was a shocking—and impossible—thought. At some point, Sam had come to think of the man as hers; no other woman had a right to him physically or emotionally.
“Tell me what you know of heartbreak,” Sam mumbled, avoiding eye contact, fearful of what he’d see in her green stare.
“That is certainly not going to happen until you inform me what sent you to tears,” he refuted.
Sam pushed to her feet and crossed her arms, pacing toward him only to reel and walk back toward the bed.
“If you will not tell me, then I will have to guess.” One brow rose, and his smile returned as he tapped his chin in thought. “Let me see…”
“You will not guess, my lord.” Unless he’d already heard gossip below stairs—which was highly probable. It would injure her further to know he’d sat before her all this time and knew exactly what had brought her to tears but was forcing her to say the words aloud.
“Oh, I assure you, I am most adept at hide and seek, Miss Samantha.” He chuckled and sat back once more in his slouched position. “My grandfather was known to lose—or as he called it, hide—things about his estate. I spent many hours finding items he’d misplaced.”
“This is not hide and seek,” she countered, pivoting once more to face him.
“Hidden or lost emotions are no different than misplaced physical items.”
The notion that he could somehow deduce what had upset her was not appealing, but she had no intention of speaking of her family’s shame—especially with Lord Ridgefeld, who was little more than a stranger.
“Are you missing a pet back in London, mayhap a kitten?” His eyes widened when Sam’s mouth betrayed her, her lips curling slightly. “Oh, I know…a parakeet!”
“Heavens, what would ever make you think I have a bird?” Sam couldn’t help but laugh at his obvious jest.
“Well,” Elijah sat forward once more, taking her in from head to toe. “Sometimes, it takes more than one guess. Allow me to think.”
He made a production of closing his eyes and sighing loudly.
Sam tapped her slippered foot on the bare floor.
Finally, his eyes sprang open. “I know, you forgot your favored gown in town and now you will be forced to borrow a maid’s garb for the wedding tomorrow morning.”
“Do not be ridiculous, my lord.” Sam sighed with exasperation. “If I had forgotten my gown, I would simply borrow one of Jude’s.
“Your sister is marrying Lord Cartwright tomorrow, which will leave you alone. You will miss her companionship. Mayhap you even—begrudgingly—envy her finding Cartwright.”
Sam turned back toward the bed to hide her look of utter shock. Her own musings spoken aloud. It was true, she did feel all those things, though she was hesitant to admit to envying her twin in any way; however, it gave Sam something to latch on to—something that had nothing to do with Beauchamp, his sudden, unexpected arrival, and his abandonment of his twin daughters over eighteen years prior.
“You are quite accomplished, indeed,” Sam said, twisting toward him once more. “Though I am very happy for Jude. She is in love. Simon is her perfect match—their temperaments and interests align closely. They will suit each other well.”
“However, this leaves you alone,” he prodded.
“Certainly not,” Sam said with a chuckle. “I have Marce, Garrett, and Payton.”
“But Payton is little more than a child.”
“She has reached her seventeenth year, my lord.” Sam heard the hostility in her tone and wished she could take it back, but Elijah didn’t seem to notice. “She will be presented to society next season; that is if she can control her vices for another year.”
“I do know a thing or two about being alone—and the sorrow it brings to a person.” The dark shadow returned to his eyes. “I have lost, but am trying to move forward.”
Sam was instantly remorseful for her insensitivity. “My apologies, Elijah.” She sank into the tall-backed chair that matched his. “You lost your grandfather recently, and here I am, laboring over Jude’s marriage and departure from our townhouse. All the while, I should be content she is still with us and happy beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”
Elijah sighed. “That is not why I brought up my recent loss, Sam.”
If he said another word after uttering her name aloud, she didn’t process it. She could listen to him say her name—whisper her name, yell her name, sigh her name—for the rest of her stay in Derbyshire.
“Are you listening to me at all? Here I am, a poor sap, baring my soul, and you are not so much as hearing me.” Elijah stood, stepping before her chair. She tilted her chin upward to see his face and avoid staring at his midsection—knowing what lay just a bit south of his waistband. “As I was saying, the best medicine for melancholy is distraction.”
She wondered if he suspected he’d been her distraction since his arrival. And, oh, what a wonderful diversion he was. She made the foolish mistake of lowering her chin, her eyes shifting from his face to his lips, and farther down to his broad chest straining against the thin linen shirt below his coat.
She gulped, bringing her eyes back to his. “I am accomplished in the art of distraction.”
“I have no doubt,” he whispered as he leaned close. “Were you in the study last night looking for a distraction?”
“My book!” She’d almost forgotten about the set of volumes and the one he’d taken with him the previous night.
“Correction, Lord Cummings’ book.”
“Possession is what matters, my lord.”
“Then I would say I am the rightful owner of the book because it is in my possession.”
“I want it back,” Sam demanded, her stare hardening. “You may collect it and bring it to me.”
“I will do no such thing.” He laughed, standing straight once more. “Besides, the proper thing to do is return the book to its rightful place…before anyone notices it is missing.”
“And if I do not want to return it yet?” Blast it all, Sam wanted another peek at its wicked pages. Maybe more than a peek—she’d collect the entire collection, but that would certainly draw attention to the bare shelf. “I have not learned all I seek to know.”
“I think it best you find another distraction—one that is not as ruinous.”
It would be disastrous if she were found in possession of the scandalous book, but Sam could think of no other way to learn the ways of the flesh without questioning Garrett—which was not an option—or begging Ellie to confide what the marriage bed held.
But…she did have another option, and he stood right in front of her. “Are you offering to teach me, my lord?”
Chapter 11
“Miss Samantha, I do not think this is something we should be discussing.” Behind closed doors, he wanted to add but smartly kept that bit to himself. Bloody hell, the woman had trapped him using his own words. “I think it best—“
A coy smirk lit her face, halting his words of caution. It was the same smile he’d noticed when he plucked her from the side of the road before the storm. “But, my lord, you recommended a diversion.” She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout when he shook his head, unable to speak at her suggestive remark. She looked up at him from under lowered lashes. “I will be an eager pupil.”
The woman was a siren. A minx sent to throw him off course. She was doing a stellar job of it. “Why don’t I escort you downstairs or to the lawn area? The other guests were playing battledore and shuttlecock on the west lawn earlier.”
“Not the type of distraction I was thinking of, Lord Ridgefeld,” she cooed, her tongue darting out to slide across her plump lower lip.
Wa
s it him, or did she put extra emphasis on Ridge?
His treacherous body responded.
She was a proper miss. Young and innocent, but she played the part of a seasoned courtesan. A woman well-versed in the talents needed to seduce a man—even a man as honorable as Eli.
“Then I have another idea, one you will certainly be more agreeable to.”
His head tilted a bit to the left, his interests piqued. “Go on.”
“We are both in need of distraction, are we not?”
He’d come to Derbyshire for that exact reason, but hadn’t expected his journey to include the maddening, auburn-haired beauty before him who led him to question everything he thought a noble marquis was. “You are correct.”
“Why not allow ourselves to be each other’s diversion while in residence at Hollybrooke?”
Eli was not so gullible as to agree to her proposition without further explanation. “And, exactly how do you see this scheme going?”
“Well, we shall provide one another company during our stay—much as we are now.”
“Much as we are now?” He was in the bedchamber of an unmarried, innocent miss, surrounded by a manor full of guests—in a stranger’s home, no less. Their association was already far past the point of being anywhere near orthodox.
Eli glanced over his shoulder at her rumpled bed coverings, then to her gown closet with her things neatly arranged. Everything as it should be…more to the point, he was the only thing out of place.
“It is not sensible for you and me to keep one another company in such a way, Miss Samantha.” He spoke her name slowly as if she were unable to grasp the meaning of his words. The room closed in around him. He stood too close to her, so close he could smell her fragrance of juniper berry, a change from her normal lavender scent. After less than a day, he thought he knew her usual perfume preference? “Though, I do concede I enjoy your company immensely.”
He shouldn’t have allowed the last words to cross his lips.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 9
