She wondered if he were nervous. His voice suggested he might be, but she dismissed the thought even as it arose. He must have known many women and if he were nervous, it was for her alone. He was sensitive enough to imagine the ordeal she was facing but his imaginings would not come close to the reality. He could not know what she really feared.
Alice undressed her reverently. A new silk and lace nightgown, recently delivered by London’s finest modiste, lay ready on the bed. Elinor’s dark curls were brushed to a shining cloud and the diamonds that winked in her ears placed in a drawer for safekeeping. The lights were shuttered until only one candle remained. The scene was set and Alice closed the door quietly behind her. All Elinor had to do was lie and wait.
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel walked to the dresser and snuffed out the one candle, then to the window to draw back the curtains. The moon rode clear from behind drifting rags of cloud and shone brightly into the room, silvering its contents and making Elinor feel she had entered a strange and exotic world. His night shirt fell to the floor and she had a brief glimpse of a powerful male form before he slipped between the covers and was there beside her, his warm skin touching. She lay immobile, frozen with longing and with dread. She must play the counterfeit; she dared not show him the truth of her feelings, the deep emotions which lay in ambush.
A quiet voice sounded in her ear. “The night is chilly and we must keep each other warm,” and he tugged gently at her night gown, inching it upwards until he had slipped it over her head and cast it adrift.
He turned towards her, leaning on one arm, and smoothed back the dark halo of curls spread across the pillow. His index finger traced a line down her cheek.
“There is something I wish to say, Elinor. We have made a marriage of convenience but that does not prevent our being considerate of each other. Your happiness must be mine.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, touched by his concern.
Then his arms were encircling her and pulling her close. The heat from his body flooded through every small part of her and his musky scent filled the air she breathed. She was dizzy with his nearness and felt herself falling, falling. Small kisses plucked at her hair and nuzzled at her ears. Then his lips were gently pulling at hers; gently at first but then more strongly, more insistently. Her stomach clenched with a deep pleasure. Eagerly she opened her mouth to him and he tasted her, tasted her again and again until she felt her body burn and her breathing grow ragged. His lips created a trail of delight, down her cheek, her jaw, her neck, to hover over the smooth silk of her bosom. Desperate to know his touch, she took his head between her hands and brought his mouth to her breasts. One after another he cupped them in his hands while his lips licked, teased, nibbled until she moaned aloud with delight. She pressed herself wildly against him, her fingers turning and twining in his dark hair. All the while his lips continued their inexorable journey downwards and he was touching her where she had never before been touched, touching, caressing, probing. She felt him hard and ready and every nerve in her body was ablaze. The pleasure was excruciating but she wanted more. She could forbear no longer. She grabbed his shoulders with her hands and brought him fiercely down upon her.
“Elinor, my love.” Had she heard those words? She hardly knew. She arched into his body and let herself drown in the firestorm of passion.
****
Gabriel woke as the first shafts of sunlight spilled across the counterpane. For a moment he looked dazedly around the room and then remembered. His mind shut down abruptly. He inched his way to the side of the bed, careful not to disturb the woman sleeping so soundly beside him, and on tiptoe made for the connecting door to his own apartment. Summers was already there but looked surprised to see his master so early in the morning. He made no comment, however, and went about his business in silence, fetching hot water for washing and laying out the riding dress the duke commanded.
In less than an hour Gabriel was waking the sleepy stable boy to help him saddle his favorite chestnut. All he wanted was to get away from the house, to get away and gain time to think. No, he didn’t want to think—about his marriage, about Elinor, about the night. But the images kept crowding in on him. Their marriage should have been uncomplicated, a simple exchange, and this morning he should be sitting opposite her at the breakfast table smiling across the coffee cups. Instead he was galloping his mare as far and as fast as he could, escaping—but from what? He knew in his heart. It was love. He had loved her last night and it had come out of nowhere, an unwelcome intruder.
All day he had thought himself a lucky man. She was a lively companion, a sympathetic listener, and she was beautiful. He’d thought her ethereal in her wedding dress and intensely desirable in the emerald green silk she had worn to dinner. He had prepared himself for a night of pleasure and more to come, when he would savor her to the full—until his infatuation died. Or so he’d thought. Even then he’d felt an edge of nervousness that should have served as a warning. But how could he have imagined he would be engulfed so ferociously by feeling? He wanted to hold her close for ever, to sleep every night in her arms and kiss her awake every morning. He wanted to protect her from all harm, to love her with tenderness again and again. He had never before experienced such complete surrender and he hated it. Love was an enemy, fickle and untrustworthy. Those he had loved—his parents, his brother—had left him bereft. He had put his trust in them, believed they would always be there, but the world had turned and decreed otherwise. He had been left alone and he still felt the pain. Romantic love would be no different; a wife would be no different.
He looked into the future and saw darkness. He would fall deeper and deeper in love with her, he would be ecstatically happy and all would be well for a year, two years. Then she would grow discontented with her life, with him. She had not married for love, after all, and there would be plenty of followers only too ready to charm the Duchess of Allingham and woo her from him. Or worse, she would die. That was not unlikely. She was a delicate creature, a fragile Celtic beauty. What would childbirth do to her? He might gain an heir but at what cost. If he loved her, how could he ever look at his son and not despair? When you loved, it hurt very badly; that was the lesson he’d learned and he’d learned it well. He could not succumb. There was still a chance to save himself—he must separate from her, keep a distance, until such time as this wild emotion subsided. As it surely would.
He turned into one of the many rutted lanes which led back to the iron gates of Allingham. He must build a barrier of politeness between them, he decided. Elinor might be disappointed by the tepid friendship he offered but she would understand their marriage was a business arrangement. She would understand its terms and not expect to live in his pocket. Last night her passion had matched his but she had spoken no words of love. She was simply fulfilling the bargain she had made and he need not worry her emotions were deeply engaged.
He had ridden through the gates and was making his way to the stables when he became aware of a voice in the distance and looked up to see Roland Frant trotting towards him. He groaned inwardly for he had supposed his despised cousin to be safely in Norfolk.
“Good morning, Your Grace. I had not thought to see you riding so early today.”
“It is too beautiful a morning to stay abed.” He hoped his cousin’s curiosity would be satisfied. “Are you not supposed still to be in Norwich?”
“I arrived home last night. Too late for the ceremony, I regret.”
Gabriel ignored the comment and tried to turn the conversation once more. “And you have left Lady Frant there?”
“My mother is content enough with her old friend. They have much to talk over and I can only be in the way,” Roland answered a little smugly. “I shall return to Norwich tomorrow week to escort Lady Frant home. But tell me, how is the duchess?”
“She is well.”
“And happy, I trust. This must be a most joyous day for you both. But I believe she will be happier still when she hears the n
ews I have.”
“News?”
“Indeed yes. I bring important tidings—but I will make an appointment to speak with her.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I would not wish to disturb the newly-weds on their honeymoon,” his cousin said slyly.
“Cut to the chase, Roland. If you have something to say, say it.”
“Forgive me for prevaricating, but my news concerns the duchess most particularly.”
“Then you had better come up to the house and get it over with,” the duke said tersely.
****
Two hours after Gabriel had tiptoed from her bedchamber, Elinor awoke to full sunlight streaming through the window and lighting the room with its warm gold. She stretched lazily and looked to her left. He was no longer there; he must have returned to his own bed, an aristocratic custom perhaps that spared the servants their blushes. She lay for a long time gazing idly at the ceiling but seeing nothing. Her thought was all of the night, the achingly sweet night they had passed, and she luxuriated in it. With each moment relived, her smile grew wider. Why had she assumed this was going to be difficult? It had not been difficult, it had been magnificent—a tender, life-affirming night in the arms of her lover. She had known she loved him, had feared for days she would show that love too clearly. But in the end it had not mattered, for he had loved her back. He was her true sweetheart and she was his.
She stretched her hand to the bell but before she could ring, the door opened and Alice hovered on the threshold, a cup of chocolate in her hand and a jug of hot water at her feet. The maid’s plump face was wreathed in smiles. She placed the chocolate on a side table and poured water into the large, white porcelain bowl.
“What will Your Grace wear today?”
Elinor felt bemused once more. She supposed she would eventually become accustomed to this style of address, but really it mattered little. She was Gabriel’s wife and that was all the title she needed.
“I am not sure. I don’t yet know what our plans may be.” She could not stop herself from blushing. “Is the duke at breakfast?”
“His Grace has already eaten.” Elinor felt a stab of disappointment but schooled her features. “Mr. Jarvis saw him riding out a while back,” the maid offered.
It was early to be riding but perhaps her full-blooded husband felt the need of yet more vigorous exercise. The thought caused her to smile reminiscently. She swung her legs out of the bed. “You may go, Alice. I will choose my gown and dress myself.”
The maid looked a trifle shocked but Elinor ignored her. She wanted to spend time alone, time to prepare herself for the day ahead and for the husband she adored. She wondered where he might have gone. He had not mentioned riding out so early and for so long. He must be exploring the countryside, she decided, enjoying the wonderful September sun and ready to recount his adventures once he returned. It was odd, though, that he had not woken her with a goodbye kiss. Perhaps he had and she had been sleeping too soundly to remember. No, she would have known if she had been kissed. Every moment they had been together was etched deep in her memory.
She recalled the hot, probing caresses of the midnight hours and felt herself dissolve inwardly. All this time later they had the power to transform her into an ardent lover once more. Where was he? She wanted him. Now! She was no better than a hussy, she thought, a hussy in desperate need of self-control. This was not Elinor. But it was; it was the true Elinor set free. This was the real woman, not the grey mouse in her grey mouse dress or the unwilling servant forced into obedience. She thought about her mother, who had been overwhelmed by desire for another Claremont. Is this how Grainne had felt? Is this why she had thrown caution to the winds, jettisoned her escape from Ireland to fall into worse trouble? For the first time since discovering her history, Elinor could understand the crazy, erotic beat to which her mother had danced.
Her hand was on the door, ready to descend to the breakfast room, when a knock sounded and Gabriel stood on the threshold. She smiled eagerly but he remained where he stood. Was Summers hovering in the passage, she wondered, else why did he not take her in his arms and kiss her back to bed?
“Roland Frant is below,” he said crisply. “He wishes to speak with you.”
She looked nonplussed. “What is so important that Roland has come calling today of all days?”
“I have no idea—he is stupidly mysterious. But I wish to be rid of him as soon as possible, so dismiss him when you can.”
She followed the duke down the turret stairs, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She had a premonition this visit meant trouble. Roland was awaiting them in the library, warming his hands by the small fire. He looked up as they entered the room and his smile was benign.
“You should stay, Gabriel, my tidings will prove as interesting to you as to your wife.” His voice slid sleekly over the word “wife.”
All three of them remained standing, their stiff figures making a circle as though they were about to embark on a country dance.
“As you know, I have been to Norfolk,” Roland began portentously. “It was there I learned this most interesting news. The friend my mother is visiting in Norwich once lived on the Allingham estate. It was many years ago, you understand, but I learned from her information I believe to be crucial for Elinor.”
“Whatever can it be?”
“Yes, whatever can it be?” was Gabriel’s sardonic echo.
Roland ignored him and turned to Elinor. “I know it has been most important for you to discover your true identity, Cousin Elinor—although after what I have to reveal, perhaps no longer cousin?”
“What is your meaning?” Gabriel interrupted angrily. “For once in your life, Roland, be a man and spit it out.”
His cousin looked affronted. “I have come with good news. Elinor, I am sure, will want to know the truth of her family.”
“You know something we have not yet discovered, Roland?” Her barely suppressed fervor was all he could desire.
“My mother’s friend, a Mrs. Warrinder, is now housebound and has little contact with the outside world but when Lady Frant spoke to her of your marriage, she was most interested. You see, she knew of your mother! She recognized her name straightaway. She was a young woman who lived locally, she said. The painter—she painted miniatures.”
“Yes, yes,” Gabriel said impatiently while Elinor lowered her eyes in disappointment.
“You are already aware of this, I know, but what Mrs. Warrinder went on to say is entirely new. She said the young lady, Elinor’s mother, painted while her husband tended the woods at Allingham. They were a handsome couple, she remembered, but they moved away quite suddenly and she had no notion what happened to them afterwards.”
Elinor’s lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened. She was staring at Roland’s face as though hypnotized.
“Explain yourself, Frant.” Gabriel’s tone had lost its irony and was tinged with threat.
“It would seem Elinor’s father was a forester,” Roland announced with a flourish. And then added unnecessarily, “He was not, after all, Uncle Charles.”
There was complete silence in the room. Roland Frant looked from one to the other of his listeners. “It is surely desirable that Elinor knows her true father. In my view, Charles was always a doubtful contender.”
“This is a bag of moonshine.” Gabriel sprung into speech. “We have evidence…” The uncertainty of that evidence hit him but then mustering his remaining armory, he continued, “…and your informant is an old woman, you said so yourself. Housebound. Her mind no doubt wanders. She will have confused people from her past.”
Roland smiled serenely. “I think there is little doubt that what she says is true, cousin. And if you think carefully, it makes much more sense than Uncle Charles ever did. After all, it changes nothing, does it? You are happily married and whether Elinor is the daughter of Charles Claremont or a humble woodsman is immaterial. Now if you will excuse me…”
An
d with that, Roland bowed his way out of the Allingham drawing room, a satisfied smirk on his face.
****
They were left looking at each other, bewildered by the bombshell he had dropped. Gabriel was the first to recover. “This must be a shock for you, Elinor. You will need time to accustom yourself. But whoever your father may be, your name is or was, Milford. Your identity is not wholly lost. And think for a minute—you now escape the ignominy of having Charles Claremont as your relative!”
He was trying to make light of the devastating news. “Don’t refine too much on what has happened. My wretched cousin was at least right when he said that whatever your parentage, it changes nothing.”
“I suppose not,” she said in a small voice and began to move towards him, seeking reassurance.
“I will leave you to think it over.” He strode briskly towards the door. “Joffey has papers awaiting my signature but we will talk more at supper.” And he was out of the room before she caught her next breath.
Was it true that it changed nothing? Gabriel insisted it was so and had tried to mollify her with surface cheer. But that was a sham. It had changed things. He had fled from her without a word of affection, leaving her alone and troubled, and after a night in which she had thought herself truly loved. It could only be because she was no longer the woman he’d taken her for, no longer the relation he’d imagined. He had married in part to redeem his uncle’s conduct so how could Roland’s news not have an effect? Yesterday they had been happy in each other’s company and planning their future together; today Gabriel could not wait to leave her. Last night, he had uttered words of love but this morning those words had been rendered nothing, an aberration based on a false premise.
She slumped down into an armchair and gazed blindly through the window at the blazing red and gold of the autumn trees. She must stop this speculation, she scolded herself, she was allowing her fears to run away with her. Gabriel disliked his cousin intensely and had been irritated to have his ride interrupted and his morning’s business postponed. That was enough to explain his hasty departure.
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