Holiday Fling

by Christina Jones

  Hugo saw the enormity of her situation hit her, the look of desolation in her eyes. It was not how he wanted her. He wanted her to marry him freely, out of love. To smile at him as she used to, with eyes brimful of tenderness and joy. But for now, he knew he had her, and he would take whatever he could get.

  ‘So you see, Miss Camden, it would be wise of you to accept my renewed proposal. I will do everything in my power to make you happy and to be a good husband.’ He smiled, winningly. ‘Please, give me a chance.’

  Elinor’s mind was spinning. He actually wanted to marry her! That much was clear. His expression was pleading now, at variance with the arrogance of his words. But why? Why would he want her now, when he was free to have any young lady of the Ton? Did he feel sorry for her, poor old spinster that she was, and hoped that by making her an offer he would erase the dreadful hurt he had caused her eight years before? The thought was horrifying. On the other hand, it gave her a great deal of power over him – the power to punish him in full for his sins.

  ‘If you are making this offer out of pity, I’ll kill you,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Pity? Don’t be absurd. I’m asking you to marry me because, strange though it may seem, I would very much like you to be my wife.’

  ‘And you would do everything in your power to make me happy?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said instantly, in the same eager tone he had used when he asked her the first time, so long ago. ‘Anything! Everything.’

  ‘I may choose to redecorate your town house in shocking pink and lime green. Or open an orphanage. Or gallop bareback down Rotten Row. Or become a bluestocking and hold soirées for impoverished poets and struggling playwrights. I have literary inclinations, you know. Avon House could become a temple to bad verse and melodrama. I will not be a submissive little puppet to do your bidding.’

  Hugo noted the martial gleam in her eye, the challenge. Oh, it was good to be pitting his wits against her again. ‘You always were rather bookish, were you not? It didn’t trouble me then, and it certainly causes me no alarm now. As a responsible husband, however, I would probably feel obliged to point out that you might find the offerings of your penurious scribblers rather indigestible in a shocking pink and lime green drawing-room. And I hesitate to remind you that such a décor would clash horribly with blue stockings – because I’m quite sure you’ve already thought of that.’

  He looked all innocent solemnity and grave concern. She choked back a laugh. He smiled.

  ‘Do what you like, Ellie. Be a colour-blind termagant if such is your desire. But marry me. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘I think I shall,’ she said slowly, unable to stop excitement and wonder from creeping into her voice. ‘Yes, Hugo, I’ll be your wife. And since you have just promised to do anything for me, you’d better make good on your word. Kiss me again. Kiss me as though it were our last kiss for all time.’

  He folded her in his arms, smiled gloriously at her, then lowered his lips to hers, and brought the storm inside. And when they had both got their breath back, and she was nestled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, she spoke again.

  ‘And now, my lord, you can explain to me why I shouldn’t make the rest of your life a living hell. Tell me why I shouldn’t hate you.’

  Hugo looked down into her upturned face. She was gazing at him in a coolly assessing way, very much at odds with the intimate companionship of their embrace and the heated abandon of their kiss. And behind the mask of indifference, he could see a deep hurt in her eyes. But not hatred; not the cynical, sneering disdain he had suffered from Angela once she had trapped him and found she couldn’t make him play her game. There was hope. He knew Elinor was incapable of that kind of cruelty. When she heard the truth, she would forgive him. Surely she would.

  He eased her away from him, then rose and stood with his back to the window again and faced her. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘Promise you won’t ask any questions until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Very well.’ She sat back calmly, folded her hands in her lap. ‘The floor is yours.’

  ‘The first thing I must say, Ellie, is that I loved you when I asked you to marry me. I loved you even more after you gave yourself to me. It was the most precious gift of my life. I have loved you ever since. I don’t wish to hurt you in any way, but I have to say some things about your family that you may find hard to believe. You may think I’m lying to excuse my own actions. But I can refer you to my grandmother and my attorney if you require proof of what I tell you. I would far prefer to remain silent, but I understand why you need to know.’

  His throat felt dry. He went to the table, poured two more cups of tea, and passed one to her before resuming his position with his own in his hand.

  ‘I’m not sure you knew your cousin Angela very well, even though you were raised in the same house. She was four years older than you, after all. Did you never wonder why she was still on the shelf with her looks and obvious attractions?’

  Elinor frowned. ‘No. I always assumed she had her heart set on someone my uncle wouldn’t permit her to marry. Angela never confided in me. To tell the truth, she always looked down on me. I was just her insignificant young nobody of a cousin.’

  ‘She said as much to me.’ Hugo winced. Angela had said a lot more; vicious remarks, full of spite and venom. ‘So how do you think she felt when she knew that you were to become the Countess of Avon?’

  Elinor‘s eyes widened.

  ‘You see, Ellie, Angela and your uncle had decided long before I met you that she was to become the Countess of Avon. She had her sights set on my brother – I wouldn’t say her heart, as I’m quite sure she didn’t possess one. You were offered to me as bait in a much bigger matrimonial trap. Hargrave thought that once we were married, Angela would spend time with us and she and Jamie would therefore be thrown together. He knew that Jamie and I were close. And if Jamie hadn’t been killed, it might have worked. As it was, Angela had already set out to ensnare him before our betrothal. Rather too eagerly. When Jamie was killed, she was carrying his child.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You may imagine, therefore, that her scheming threatened to bring her to utter ruin. She already had a somewhat questionable reputation. Had she disappeared for nine months, tongues would certainly have wagged. So she and her father decided that I would pay for my brother’s sins. That scene in the orangery with Angela at our betrothal ball was carefully staged. They knew how you would react, and they were desperate. Once I was married to you, she would have been ruined. I’d been in the study earlier with Lord Hargrave, discussing marriage settlements. We had a drink of brandy. Mine must have been drugged. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the orangery with Angela half-naked on top of me and every single guest at Boxcombe there to witness the supposed debauch of an innocent debutante.’

  He stopped, sipped his tea, gazed at her. ‘I can never forget the look in your eyes. The contempt. Those terrible things you said. You played straight into their hands by breaking our engagement.’

  ‘Oh God, no, it can’t be true …’

  But she knew in her heart that it was. Her uncle had never liked her. Angela had always snubbed and despised her. They would have done anything to prevent her becoming a countess, and they knew her too well. She had behaved exactly as they had calculated she would, and sacrificed her love to their greed.

  ‘It gives me no pleasure to tell you this, Elinor, but I assure you every word is true. I wish it weren’t.’

  ‘But why did you marry her? You could have just exposed her for what she was, left her to twist in the wind.’

  ‘And I would have been eternally damned and shunned, the worst of the wicked earls of Avon, a pariah among men, and the devil incarnate. People would have believed what they thought they saw, not what I said. I’d spent my life trying to live down the family’s bad name, hoping to be accepted for myself. All for naught. Then there was a child to consider. I found some letters from Angela t
o Jamie, and it was quite clear that he was the father. I didn’t want the child to suffer. You wouldn’t even speak to me, let alone forgive me or marry me. So I married her for the sake of Jamie’s child. But Angela was never my wife.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I never consummated the marriage.’

  Elinor looked disbelieving. ‘Why ever not? You have just said she was a very attractive woman.’

  ‘She was rotten to the core; cold-blooded, heartless, and vicious. I could never desire such a woman. She thought I’d come round, of course. When she miscarried, she was absolutely delighted. I was not. The sole reason for our marriage had gone. I purchased my commission the following day, and joined my regiment immediately. She had numerous affairs, but she was careful not to produce any children because everyone knew we lived apart. It was a drug to induce abortion that killed her.’

  ‘What! How horrible!’

  ‘It wasn’t the first time she’d taken it.’

  Elinor blanched. The sordidness of it all disgusted her; that Angela would have got with child to trap Jamie de Gray into marriage, and after his death, calmly wreck her cousin’s hopes of happiness by such a low trick was bad enough. That afterwards, instead of trying to win over her reluctant husband with tenderness (and Elinor knew Hugo well enough to know he could not have withstood real kindness and affection), she would rather betray him and take drugs to kill her children, made the first offence seem almost trivial. And Elinor had just agreed to marry the man who had been united to this monster. How badly had it all affected him? Or was he more to blame than he admitted?

  ‘Was she it because she was afraid of you that she took these drugs?’ she demanded, her tone hostile.

  ‘No! I would have supported her if she had gone away to have the child. I would have even paid for its upbringing. But I would not bring it up as my own. She had a choice. She took what she thought was the easy way out. She never wanted children. She made that perfectly plain when she lost Jamie’s baby. They would have been an unwelcome fetter on her liberty.’

  ‘And you? How many affairs did you have while Angela was enjoying her liberty? Do you have any by-blows?’

  Hugo stepped towards her, his expression hard. ‘Don’t turn this on me, Elinor. I was as much a victim as you. More so, because I foresaw a life sentence with a woman I detested. You at least were free to love again. But I admit I was no saint. I went to war to get away from my wife, and like all men, I have needs. But I never bedded another man’s woman or made promises I couldn’t keep.’

  ‘You used whores, then.’

  ‘Sometimes. They are more honest than Angela was. No promises. No lures. An honest bargain between man and woman. It kept me sane. And I have no by-blows.’

  He came right up to her and knelt on the rug at her feet. ‘Please, Elinor, believe me. It has only ever been you. I was weak eight years ago, I know. It pains me to admit it. I was too young and foolish to brave it out. But war and death changes a man. I’ll fight to my last drop of blood for you – to make you happy. To make you love me.’ His eyes bored into hers – blue into black, deep and compelling. ‘Do you think you could ever love me again?’

  She leant forward and flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh Hugo …’ she got out, with a watery chuckle, ‘you darling idiot. Of course I love you. I always have. But your reputation is utterly destroyed. You’ll never do for Count Draco now.’

  ‘And who might he be when he’s at home?’ the darling idiot enquired as he rubbed his hands up and down her back.

  ‘He’s my latest villain – the most licentious rake in Christendom. I am something of an amateur novelist.’

  ‘Indeed. You write from experience, I take it?’

  ‘Naturally. It makes one’s work … Oh …’

  Hugo’s hands slid down to Elinor’s buttocks, thinly shielded by her shift. He tugged her towards him.

  ‘… So much more alive to one’s readers …’

  He began massaging her.

  ‘Hugoooo …’

  ‘And what does this Count Draco look like?’

  ‘He’s utterly gorgeous, of course. Mmmm …’ she wriggled appreciatively as he caressed her. ‘Tall, dark …’

  ‘Devastatingly handsome?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Black hair, blue eyes?’

  ‘Are you fishing for a compliment?’

  ‘Are you implying that I wouldn’t measure up to this Draco character? Impugning my manhood, you hussy!’

  ‘No … oh …’ she shuddered with desire. ‘Only your wickedness. I am quite content with your manhood.’

  ‘Would you like to verify it for yourself? Refresh your memory? Make sure it hasn’t shrunk in your imagination?’

  ‘Hugo … Oh!’ Elinor exclaimed, as she found herself pulled on top of him on the rug, in a tangle of limbs and blanket. Something rather large and hard was pressed against her thigh. He was warm and vital, he was everything she craved. She looked down into his face, saw his heart in his expression, and brought her mouth to his. He was hers at last.

  ‘I suppose I should be sure of what I’m getting,’ she nibbled his lips, flicked her tongue into his mouth, before kissing just below his ear, ‘before it’s too late.’

  He groaned. ‘Ellie, you’re killing me! Let me make love to you, darling. Please! I’ll get a special licence tomorrow ...’

  His hands cruised up the backs of her thighs while she struggled with his neck cloth.

  ‘This is impossible!’

  ‘Don’t let my valet hear that. It’s the Avon waterfall, the creation of a genius – so he tells me.’

  ‘Clearly designed to keep you out of the clutches of designing women … hold still …’

  And finally she had it free. Then she commenced on his shirt buttons. He brought her mouth back down to his and kissed her relentlessly until her hands fell away and she lost herself utterly in the joy of the moment. And then she found herself rolled onto her back, her shift tugged up to her waist. She sat up, quickly pulled it off over her head, then pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his snug pantaloons.

  ‘I don’t want to be the only one naked.’

  ‘That,’ he replied smiling, ‘can soon be arranged.’

  Elinor caught her breath when he finally stood naked before her. He was simply magnificent. Dressed, he caught and held the eye with close-fitting, beautifully tailored clothes showing his figure to every advantage. Naked, he was beautiful, a perfect example of the grace of the human form. His muscles were toned, his shoulders broad, his legs long and well-shaped. Dark hair covered his chest and tapered down to his stomach. There were scars on his arms and his long, powerful thighs. Rampant was the only word that came to her mind. Rampant desire, rampant flesh, rampant temptation. Her mouth watered. Her body hungered.

  ‘Come here, Hugo de Gray, my wicked angel,’ she said huskily, ‘and show me just how much you love me.’

  She took all he could give. She gave all she had. They made love with joyous abandon and finally sank together, utterly spent, into the happy afterglow of loving.

  ‘Mmm?’ murmured Elinor drowsily, as she became aware of an insistent tapping on the door. They had slept – for how long she wasn’t sure – and all she wanted was to curl back into Hugo’s arms and stay there for ever.

  The tapping became more insistent.

  ‘M’lord?’ came a man’s voice. ‘Are you there, m’lord?’

  ‘My batman,’ muttered Hugo, shoving Elinor beneath the blanket. ‘Don’t move and don’t utter a word.’

  He snatched up his shirt and threw it over his head, then prowled over to the door. He opened it a fraction.

  ‘What is it, Jones?’ he barked. ‘I told you to take the morning off.’

  ‘I was on my way back to the big house, sir, and I saw your curricle tracks coming down this lane. Thought you might need a hand, sir.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Carry on up to the house and have a closed carriage sent down here, will you? And
get a message to Lady Eugenia explaining that I have been detained because of the weather.’

  ‘Very good, m’lord.’

  ‘And keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  There was what looked suspiciously like a smirk on the batman’s face as he turned away. Hugo let it pass. Jones, officious though he could sometimes be, was unwaveringly loyal. He would merely assume his master was wenching, but he would never be drawn into any gossip below stairs. He always considered himself far superior to the idle speculations of the other servants.

  ‘I’m afraid, my darling, we are going to have to make ourselves look respectable,’ Hugo said, crouching down beside Elinor and running his fingers across her cheek. ‘And I was so looking forward to ravishing you again.’

  She turned, smiled wickedly, ran her hand along his thigh. He groaned.

  ‘It will take him at least twenty minutes to get back to the house,’ she murmured. ‘It will take me only two to have you completely at my mercy. Come here.’

  When the Earl of Avon deposited Miss Elinor Camden back at Stokenbridge Manor later that day, accompanied by his grandmother Lady Eugenia Sotheby, he was everything that was proper. His equipage was first-rate, his coachman smartly turned out, his grooms alert and dashing in their fine livery. Hugo himself was dressed in the very height of fashion, his coat a masterpiece of the tailor’s art and his hessian boots gleaming in the dwindling daylight.

  Most of the Stokenbridge servants managed to get a peek at their infamous visitor as he handed the ladies down from the carriage and escorted them into the drawing-room. They then strained to eavesdrop at doors and in stairwells, confident of an almighty row. But after a few minutes it became clear that Sir James was not about to eject his neighbour forcibly from the house, challenge him to a duel, or read him the riot act. Something decidedly strange was going on. Miss Elinor had looked quite dazzlingly happy to be in the company of her former fiancé. Perhaps, the under-cook suggested darkly, he had drugged her and had his wicked way with her. The thin little parlour maid sighed longingly. The butler told them all to mind their own business and not to make their employers the subject of loose and idle speculation, but lingered outside the drawing-room doors lest any contretemps within require his immediate presence.