‘You haven’t changed, Ellie,’ he said at last. ‘You’re as beautiful as ever. But your wardrobe could certainly do with replenishment. Why on earth are you dressed like my grandmother? No, don’t answer that. Do permit me to offer you a ride home. It’s going to pour with rain soon, and you will catch your death.’
As if in agreement, the feeble rays of the sun were suddenly blocked out by black clouds and the wind whipped along the road and whistled through tree branches. Elinor’s normally well-ordered mind was spinning. He had called her Ellie, as he used to when they were in love. He had the unmitigated gall to criticise her dress. And his grandmother was still alive; for some reason she felt that was important. If she had managed to access even a single shred of her customary common sense, she would have dashed willy-nilly through the nearest hedge as far away from him as possible. But temper got the better of reason.
‘I have not given you permission to use my first name, my lord. And how I choose to dress is no concern of yours, although you must surely be aware that in Somerset we do not sport the latest fashions of the Cyprians you consort with in Covent Garden. I confess I am relieved and flattered to be compared to Lady Eugenia, a lady of the highest moral character and principles. Do, pray, convey my regards to her when you next dun her for some money. And I am more than capable of finding my own way home, whatever the weather. Even were we to experience a second Flood, I should never accept a lift from you.’
‘Don’t be so tiresome, Elinor,’ he said irritably as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall.
She had turned away, but a second later she was swept off her feet into two powerful arms and tossed up into the curricle as though she were a recalcitrant lapdog. Her captor nimbly climbed onto the seat beside her, took up the reins, released the brake, and flicked the lead horse lightly with his whip.
‘How … how dare you! Set me down at once!’
Avon merely coaxed his horses into a gallop. ‘Save your breath and hold on tight. I’m going to spring ’em. Sir James would be most displeased were any harm to befall you, and I really don’t want to quarrel with my closest neighbour so soon. Later, perhaps, we may safely indulge in a bout of fisticuffs. But I shall try to cultivate his good opinion for the present.’
Elinor almost smiled despite herself. It was so Hugo. So utterly, impossibly, wilfully Hugo. She felt that she was a girl again, desperately in love and looking forward to a lifetime of happiness with him. And despite the ever-increasing rain, which soon penetrated her shawl, it was exhilarating to be flying along in a curricle knowing the ribbons were in the expert hands of the Earl of Avon. Had she not been so caught up in the moment she might have paid more heed when they took the left turning at the Boxcombe crossroads. As it was, they had already proceeded more than half a mile along the Boxcombe road before she realised they were not on the way back to her home.
‘Stop this vehicle at once! This isn’t the way to the manor!’
‘No it isn’t,’ her companion said agreeably. ‘You’ll be drenched before we can get you there. I’ll take you to Boxcombe and you can dry off there with a hot toddy before I send you back in a closed carriage.’
‘You are insufferable! You overbearing, conceited bully, do you think you can just gallop back into my life with a flashing smile and wreak havoc again after all these years?’
‘Naturally I do. And thank you for the unintended compliment. It’s so reassuring to know I have lost none of my devastating charm.’
‘You, you …! Oh, I should like to box your ears! I despise you!’
Her dark eyes flashed at him angrily. With her rich chestnut curls working loose from her bonnet, her fine chin thrust out in defiance, and fiery indignation sparking off her every pore, Hugo thought she looked absolutely magnificent. He hadn’t felt so alive in years.
‘God, Ellie, how I’ve missed you! You are superb. All that fury and pent-up passion. Any normal female would be having the vapours or casting up her accounts about now.’ He smiled, devilishly. ‘Rain’s setting in. We’d better stop at the cottage.’
‘Oh no, you don’t, Hugo de Gray! I will not be seduced again.’
‘If I remember correctly, you were more than willing.’
She turned her head away, furious because it was true. At nineteen, newly engaged, head over heels in love, and too impatient to wait until their wedding night, she had joyfully given herself to him – body, heart, and soul. Six years older than she, he was tender and skilful as a lover. So very tender. So achingly sensual. There had been pain when he took her the first time, but only briefly. The rest had been pure, bone-deep pleasure, as they had made love for the whole of a stolen summer afternoon. It marked the end of her happiness. The following evening she – along with almost the entire house party staying at Boxcombe for the betrothal ball – had caught him in a state of dishevelled undress in the orangery while her cousin, Lady Angela Hargrave, lay sprawled astride him with her breasts bared and her skirts hitched up around her thighs. He had tried to deny his guilt, and had even cast scurrilous aspersions on Angela, but it was clear to everyone that he was nothing but an unprincipled rake. A true de Gray, in fact. Distraught, Elinor had tossed his ring back at him with some choice remarks on his character and morals before she fled both the house and his life.
Sir James and Lady Durrant – who had been good friends of her parents – had chased after Elinor when Lord Hargrave had washed his hands of her for displaying such a shockingly bourgeois sense of propriety. He had uttered not one word of reproach to his own daughter, and instead had immediately demanded that Avon restore Angela’s reputation after so scandalously and brazenly corrupting her innocence.
Hugo’s indomitable grandmother Lady Eugenia Sotheby had visited Elinor at the Durrants’ home of Stokenbridge Manor the following day to beg her to save him from the clutches of the Hargraves, but she had been in no mood to forgive him. Since she realised she would now have to earn a living, she had gratefully accepted the post the Durrants had offered as governess to Aramintha, and tried not to howl with grief when she read the report of Hugo’s marriage by special licence to Angela just a month later. The betrayal was absolute; her lover, her cousin, her uncle, and a splendid marriage, all entirely lost to her in a matter of days.
Elinor had had no communication with any of them since. But she hadn’t done anything dramatic like shutting herself up in a turret and refusing to cut her hair or her nails. She hadn’t even read reams of mawkish poetry while she wasted away, as any young lady of true sensibility should have done, nor had she thought to run off to sea so she could be ravished by pirates. In fact she had recovered remarkably well. The Durrants treated her like a favourite daughter rather than as an employee, and Aramintha, somewhat lonely as the youngest child in the family by several years, looked on her as a cherished older sister from the outset. She had found a new family, where she was both loved and respected. She had even been courted by one or two local gentlemen, but nothing would induce her to trust a man with her heart again – perhaps because it had never been restored to her by the man who had stolen it eight years before.
And now he was back, goading her into remembering all the pain and hurt it had taken her years to forget.
‘Please set me down, my lord. I have no wish to be in your company.’ She said it coldly, disdainfully, as rain dripped off her bonnet and the wind cut through her thin garments. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still arouse her anger.
‘I need to talk to you privately.’
‘Talk then.’
‘In a moment. We must get you into the dry. You’re frozen.’ His voice was caressing. ‘Please, Ellie. Give me a chance.’
The cottage, a rather grand summer house on the edge of the Boxcombe estate, often used for picnics or a refreshment stop during shooting parties, was – to Elinor’s great surprise – clean, scrubbed, and provided with firewood, linens, and food. Someone had clearly gone to some trouble to make it ready. She rather felt it
was the magnificent man who had swiftly unhitched his horses and led them to the small stable at the back of the house as soon as they arrived. It was far too wet now to leave them standing outside. Rain lashed the window panes, filled the gutters, and ran in little rivulets down the front path. She set some tinder to the kindling and logs in the grate in the small parlour to get the fire going before she thought of herself. She was soaked to the skin. The sleeves of her dress clung to her arms, her bonnet was now a sorry apology for headgear, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She rubbed her hands together as the fire sprang into life.
The door behind her opened and Hugo entered, carrying some blankets and towels over his arm.
‘Take off those wet clothes and wrap yourself in this,’ he ordered, every inch the Earl of Avon. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’
When he returned to the parlour some time later carrying a tea tray, Hugo found Elinor curled up in a blanket on the sofa, gazing pensively out of the window. Her dress, stockings, cloak, and bonnet were all draped on chairs before the fire, while her muddy boots were propped on the hearth stone. He couldn’t help noticing that although the dress was well-made it was three seasons out of fashion and the stockings were of serviceable wool. Her whole attire spoke of faded gentility. She looked so alone and lost, his heart ached.
He had been wild to see her for so many months, that to have her finally within reach seemed slightly unreal. He drank in the sight of her – poised and graceful, even whilst shrouded in a blanket. All slender limbs, delicate bone structure, and elegant beauty. For eight years she had been a constant dream and an equally constant torment. Bivouacked under the stars night after night in Portugal and Spain, he had spared not a thought for his faithless, heartless wife. But Elinor had always been with him – in the heat of battle, in the bloody aftermath, in the long, painful weeks while he had recovered from his wounds. Even when he was in the arms of other women as he sought temporary relief from the agony of his loneliness, he had thought of her. And here she was at last, where she belonged, where they had once tasted true happiness together. He set the tray on a table beside her.
‘Shall I be mother?’ he asked.
‘You could try, but I suspect you’d find it somewhat beyond even your capabilities,’ she said tartly.
He grinned as he poured a cup for each of them, carefully adding a dash of milk to Elinor’s cup. She took it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and he crossed to the fire and added more logs. The windows were rattling in the gale. The rain was torrential. The air inside the room fairly crackled with tension.
‘You wanted to talk,’ she said, looking directly at him. ‘Since I am stranded here for the moment, you had better say your piece.’
‘Elinor, I have waited so long to speak to you, I hardly know where to begin.’ Nervous, he took his teacup and stood by the window, turned to face her. ‘I owe you so much more than an apology.’
‘You owe me nothing, my lord. I am intact, as you can see. You did not destroy me. Did you think you had? How terribly disappointed you must be.’ She sipped her tea, quivering with suppressed fury.
‘For God’s sake, how can you think such things? Don’t you know I loved you more than anyone, that I have never stopped loving you, not for a single second – that I never could? Why would I wish to destroy you?’
Elinor’s cup rattled in its saucer. Hastily she put it down. ‘Pray enlighten me, my lord – if you loved me so much, why did you go straight from my arms to those of my cousin and end up marrying her when you were betrothed to me? It is something of a conundrum, you must admit.’
‘You wouldn’t let me explain at the time. Every letter I sent was returned unopened. You refused even to see me.’
‘Ah, so it’s my fault. Silly me. I made you wed her. Evidently I disappointed you when we made love, so you thought you should give Angela a try and then marry whoever best managed to sate your uncontrollable appetites. Had I known better how to please you, we could be enduring a comfortable matrimonial indifference now.’ Her voice cracked with emotion. She stood, clutching the blanket, but it slipped and left her shoulders bare. ‘I really don’t wish to hear any more of this, my lord. I didn’t seek this meeting. You have kidnapped me. Would you kindly remove yourself while I dress, and go to the house for a carriage to take me home.’
Almost before the words were out of her mouth, she found herself clasped tightly in his arms, her hands imprisoned against the solid wall of his chest as he glared fiercely into her eyes. ‘You’re mine, Ellie! You shall not leave me again!’
‘Let me … g-o-o … oh …!’
Her protest was swallowed as his lips came down on hers. It was fierce at first, then he gentled his caress and without her being aware of her own surrender, his tongue was tangling with hers in a searing kiss. Hunger and need tore through her as she tasted his desire and anguish. Oh, yes, this was what she wanted, what she had craved for so long. His strong arms banding her, his hard mouth claiming her, his passion melding with her own. It was wild and stormy, and every last atom of reason screamed at her to resist, not to yield to his cynical seduction. But her treacherous body had ideas of its own. She moaned in acquiescence, and greedily took all he could give. And then a slower, even more seductive interchange began. Hot, moist lips. Seeking tongues. Gasps. Endearments. Whispers. Roaming hands, fondling her body as the blanket slipped unheeded to the floor. Only her thin cotton shift preserved her modesty.
Mine, mine, mine was all Hugo could think as he lovingly caressed her curves. She was all hot, panting, delicious woman. He cupped her breasts, then grazed his thumbs across her nipples, which were already hardening. She gasped against his lips and arched back to offer him more. It was all going far, far too fast. And she might well hate him for ever if he took full advantage of what she was mindlessly offering in the heat of the moment.
Suddenly he spun her around and fell back onto the sofa, bringing her down sideways across him. For a second his cobalt eyes pierced hers. ‘I want you, Ellie. So very much. But I want you to hear me out before we both do something we might regret.’
‘Oh,’ was all Elinor managed to say as he set her beside him on the sofa. ‘I see.’
And then she felt all the indignity and embarrassment of her situation. Good God, she had been about to ask him to take her to bed and make passionate love to her, regardless of the past, the present, and her reputation. She had been ready to yield without a murmur to the Earl of Avon – and he didn’t even want her!
Her eyes were suddenly cold and black with anger. ‘You contemptible beast!’ she yelled. ‘I hate you! I hate you!’
And then she burst into tears.
Afterwards, Elinor was mortified. She had never been a believer in the efficacy of tears and shouting to reduce a strong male to jelly. She was merely giving vent to her own feelings of self-loathing, for having so shamelessly hurled herself at the one man in the world she held in utter contempt. The fact that she had made no effort whatsoever to resist his lethal embrace made her feel even worse. She rather felt that she had led rather than followed after that first kiss. Hadn’t she even called him ‘darling’ when his hands were doing wicked things to her breasts? She couldn’t blame him – he had simply behaved exactly as she expected, as was his nature. But she had no excuse. She ought to have remembered what she owed to herself. Her self-respect was in tatters. Her tears tasted of bitter self-reproach.
But whatever the cause of her outburst, its effect on Lord Avon was extremely unexpected. He drew her gently towards him, his expression kind and loving.
‘You don’t hate me, Ellie. You cannot resist me any more than I can resist you. Please don’t be angry. We shall be married as soon as possible.’
He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffed, took the handkerchief, and made a determined effort to pull herself together.
Hugo picked up the blanket from the floor and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘There, that’s better.’<
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Elinor waited until she had herself firmly back in control before she asked, almost casually; ‘We are to be married? I neither recall receiving a proposal nor accepting one.’
‘In 1805 I proposed on bended knee and you accepted me. I should very much like to marry you, if you are still agreeable to the idea.’
‘Have your wits gone astray, my lord? Do you not remember that I broke off our engagement on the evening of our betrothal ball when you debauched my cousin, whom you married scarce four weeks later? How dare you insult me like this!’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’m going to leave this house, whether this storm abates or not, so if you don’t want my death on your conscience – not that you have one, that I can see – you had better arrange for a carriage to convey me home.’
Hugo simply caught her around the waist and tugged her back down beside him on the sofa. The wind and rain pounded against the windows, in time, Elinor felt, with the erratic pounding of her heart. He leaned over her, blue eyes intense and uncompromising.
‘Listen to me, Elinor. It’s rather unfortunate that I do have a conscience. I have no intention of letting you leave here until this storm has passed. By that time, your reputation will be in shreds. You don’t expect your absence to pass unnoticed, do you? Once word is out that I offered you a ride home and that we had to take shelter here alone together, you will find there isn’t a single self-righteous prude from here to the Hebrides who will speak to you.’
‘But …’
‘No buts, my love. You know as well as I do that people will talk. We aren’t at the big house. Everyone will know that you were alone with me, the wicked Earl of Avon, despoiler of innocents and corrupter of morals.’
‘There’s no need to be quite so smug about it,’ she snapped, well and truly worried now. He was right. She had behaved with great imprudence and impropriety, and society would punish her in the only way it knew how – by ostracising her. Good God, she would probably lose her post at Stokenbridge!
Holiday Fling Page 6
