Hope's Betrayal

by Grace Elliot

  Facing the desktop, he shuffled back a few paces. Hands a shoulder-width apart, he leaned forward, letting his biceps take the strain as he lowered his nose toward the jotter. It felt good putting his muscles under strain. Heartened, Huntley repeated the dip, his confidence growing by the second. Everything went well until he forgot he couldn’t rely on his legs and shifted his weight. An agony of blistering stars blinded his vision, his arms gave way and he crashed to the floor.

  Winded, he lay on his side. He just about had enough breath for a colorful string of oaths when the door flew open.

  "I heard a noise." Miss Tyler said, face pale with alarm. "Are you hurt?" She knelt on the floor, her closeness adding to his discomfort.

  "I'm quite alright, thank you. Only my dignity dinted."

  "Let me help you up."

  "No, thank you. I can manage." But to his unending frustration, as he shifted from his back to his bottom, the pain made him gasp. "I just need to catch my breath."

  As Huntley gathered his composure, he saw roses blooming on her cheeks. She was staring at him in a most peculiar way, her eyes warming his skin where they lingered. It was then it occurred to him that he had risen from bed bare-chested, wearing only his underclothes. He cleared his throat.

  "I didn’t dress for company." He was beginning to enjoy her fascination, as her eyes grew even larger and rounder.

  "My apologies for the intrusion." She stuttered, tearing her eyes away.

  Huntley stretched his arms, broadening his chest and watched her color deepen. "That's quite alright. I find your company, most stimulating."

  "So…what happened? Why are you alone?"

  "This has nothing to do with anyone else."

  She pursed her lips. "You got up by yourself?"

  "I had some crazy notion to exercise." He eyed her appreciatively. "And incidentally, that rust color really suits you. It brings out the green in your eyes."

  The gown was modestly cut, but as she leaned forward he had a full appreciation of her new, fuller figure including the intriguing dark valley between her breasts. Hope scowled, which had the effect of tilting her feline eyes even more fetchingly.

  "Well," he continued, "now you're here you might as well help me."

  "As you wish."

  She took his arm, but he was woefully unprepared for the result. Her long fingers against his bare biceps, sent raw longing cascading through his body. She felt it too and trembled. And her smell of clean skin with a tang of salt; for a moment he wondered if Hope bathed in seawater and was really a mermaid, at which point he wondered if truly he was losing him mind.

  "I'd be grateful if you didn’t mention my fall to Mother. It would needlessly distress her."

  "Of course." She said, clearly distracted.

  With her help Huntley sat up.

  "Give me a moment." He grunted, ashamed of his helplessness. "In fact, thank you, I can manage from here."

  But, Miss Tyler didn’t move. That he cared for Miss Tyler was trial enough, but to have her see him stranded like a turtle on its back, was more than his dignity could stand.

  "Damn it, go why don’t you?"

  Miss Tyler frowned. "It's just a well you are in pain, or I would be forced to tell you how rude you are." Then, to his utmost surprise, Miss Tyler sat down beside him on the rug.

  "What are you doing?" He snapped, his self-composure in shreds.

  "You may not want my help, but you could certainly benefit from some civilised company."

  "I'd be perfectly alright, if people didn’t interfere."

  "Well, you don’t look alright. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you are being uncommonly stubborn and need taking in hand."

  "And you're the woman to do it, I suppose?"

  "I was passing and heard a crash. I was concerned." She explained, as if talking to a child. "And you are being unspeakably rude."

  "Then don’t treat me like an idiot." He couldn’t let her care, he couldn’t take that risk. His heart thudded against his ribs.

  "Then don’t treat me like one either." Hope gave a long sigh. "In fact, I'm glad of this opportunity to speak with you."

  "Oh?" His heart raced, with Hope so close he had to suppress a shiver of longing as he ached to trace the dome of her breast with his tongue.

  "It concerns my position here at The Grange."

  Watching those plump lips his imagination ran away with him. The boundaries between dreaming and waking began to blur as memories of her velvet skin warmed his body.

  "Go on." He murmured, leaning closer.

  "Now you are so much stronger, I think it right that I go. As soon as circumstances allow, I intend to leave Lady Ryevale’s employ."

  Huntley felt as if he’d been slapped.

  “But why? Has Mother not treated you well?”

  Miss Tyler looked him straight in the eye. “Like a daughter.”

  "Then why?" Emptiness yawned ahead of him.

  "Now I know you are going to be alright, I can’t stay. Not now."

  He tried to laugh it off. "Look, I apologise for swearing at you. It was pain speaking."

  "That's not what I meant. I can’t stay, not after your injury."

  "What's that got to do with anything?"

  She took a deep breath. "Smugglers nearly killed you."

  "So? It wasn’t you that shot me."

  "No, but you will come to blame me nonetheless."

  Huntley guffawed. "Stuff and nonsense. Why on earth would you say that?"

  "Because I was a smuggler. Because of me you were reposted—and don’t think that I hadn’t noticed you can't bear my company. You either avoid me or bark at me. I can’t stay. Not like this."

  Huntley sat immobile, his mind frozen. The truth was he loved Hope Tyler, and yet he could not tell her. If he confessed his love she would love him in return, and then he must break her heart. Best to deny everything. He spoke coldly, ignoring the nagging void in his soul.

  "After everything Lady Constance has done for you. How can you be so ungrateful? She needs you."

  Hope recoiled.

  "I suggest you employ a secretary to ease the burden of the estate work. I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, but I cannot remain, not like this." She withdrew. The place on his arm where her fingers had rested was left empty and wanting, just like his heart. "I am sorry. Truly. And I hope one day you may think well of me."

  As she made to rise, panic gripped his craw.

  "Stay!"

  "I'll send your valet to help you up."

  "No, I don’t mean that…I mean, stay, here at The Grange. Please don’t go."

  She shrugged. "Why?"

  Desperate, he searched for the right words while avoiding the truth.

  "Because I'm asking as a personal favor.” And because of the deep yearning inside, the knowledge that he wanted to see her every day, that she was as necessary to him as salt to seawater.

  "If," he shuddered, "if I am unable to return to active service," there, he had said it, "then what will get me through each day but your smile?"

  He didn’t blanch under the scrutiny of her stare. "Forgive me," he said simply, "I barely know my own mind, but what I do know is that I want…. need…you to stay."

  The effort of confession exhausted him. Leaning his head back against the desk he stared at the ceiling. Hope didn’t seem to be laughing, so he hadn’t made a total idiot of himself. Her stillness made him suspicious and he glanced across. Their eyes met—mesmerised, he was drowning in their opaline depths.

  "I need you Hope Tyler."

  "All you had to do was say." She whispered. "I thought you didn’t care." Her chin trembled and slowly, oh so slowly, she leaned toward him. The movement once started could not be stopped and their lips touched. Heat rose from her skin, intoxicating with the aura of outdoors and he thirsted for more. Cupping her face, her eyes changed from green to black as his lips closed in on her lips. All fight gone, drawn from him by her softness, he placed his trust in her as he kissed her�
�the shock of her touch addictive and he craved more.

  With his movement restricted, Hope pressed closer, relaxing into his embrace. He stroked her hair, marveling at its glossy softness. She was a wonder, with her perfect skin and gentle curves. She consumed all his senses and pain ebbed away as they kissed again, deeper and with more urgency. His heart thundered with a possessive emotion other than lust

  "Please," she murmured against his chest, "I could not bear it if you hate me because of what the smugglers did. Tell me now if you do…and I will go."

  "No, nothing could be further from the truth. I...I…" Shocked, Huntley bit his tongue. He froze—to consider this alien emotion. Was it love or lust? Yes, he wanted her in his bed, but did he love her? The thought was sobering and with a groan he pushed her away.

  Her hurt expression was more unbearable than being shot. But he armored himself lest he forget...life was complicated enough…without seducing his mother's companion, who also happened to be a smuggler. The pounding quieted in his ears, as with supreme effort he resumed a hardened expression.

  “Don’t mistake my intentions. That was just a kiss. I want you to stay…for Mother’s’s sake.”

  Her lip quivered. “And for that reason only?”

  Huntley looked away. “What I did…just now...won’t happen again.”

  Hope nodded gravely, dusted down her skirts and knelt. “It most assuredly won’t.”

  “But, you will stay…for Mother’s’s sake?” His words had come out as a command, as if she was one of his ratings…that had not been his intention, he’d meant to ask her humbly, with respect as she deserved.

  He saw indecision on her face. Damn, he’d made thing a thousand times worse.

  “If…if…I decide to stay, you behavior must change.”

  Heat washed up his neck.

  “There can be no more stolen kisses….they are too…confusing”

  “Absolutely. No more liberties.”

  “And I won’t be barked at like a dog...I deserve some consideration.”

  “My thoughts entirely.”

  Bone-aching, heart-wrenching silence hung between them as he waited on her decision.

  “Very well then…I agree to stay...for now. But I suggest we avoid one another.”

  Huntley's triumph was short-lived. Healing his bones was nothing, compared to protecting his heart. Just what had he done?

  Chapter Twelve

  Clouds blocked out the sun and with so little warmth, the crops had grown poorly and predictions of a poor harvest came true. At The Grange, Hope was thankful for the money she sent home, praying her father would have the foresight to put some by for a hard winter. But that aside, Hope was too busy to worry for long. Captain Huntley's brothers had arrived two weeks earlier, having fled an unseasonal London fog. Their visit cheered George, and every day he seemed to grow stronger and was now able to hobble around, albeit slowly, with the aid of a crutch.

  After that afternoon two months ago, Hope and the Captain had not been alone together. In company he treated her with respect, but always a remoteness, a degree of reserve which hurt deeply. She had only to hear his voice and a void opened, and she chastised her foolish imagination, telling herself again and again it was a mistake to believe he had feelings for her.

  Weeks of correct and polite behavior passed between them, and still his clear blue eyes had the power to leave her breathless, something she feared was all too obvious to his brothers. Which was why, as she hurried along the corridor with Lady Ryevale's shawl, she was dreading the next five minutes. Pausing outside the drawing room, she braced herself, listening to a volley of raucous laughter on the other side of the door.

  First she picked out Charles' melodic drawl, and in answer, Jack's assured tone, and then finally the Captain with that deep, commanding voice which made her hollow inside. Hope swallowed. The trouble was, the Huntley men missed nothing, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to act normally around George. She glanced around, hoping a maid might be passing to whom she could give Her Ladyship’s shawl. But the corridor remained empty and so, squaring her shoulders, Hope opened the door.

  The barrage of masculinity hit her like a wall. Each brother was breathtaking in his own way, but it was only George who befuddled her senses. All three were tall, well-built men and strikingly handsome, who filled the parlor with their energy and high spirits.

  Tentatively, trying not to attract attention, she slipped inside. It was like stepping into a lion's den when she was supper. First there was Charles, lounging in that dissolute way with his long limbs thrown over the chair arm as if posing for a picture. Then Jack with his dark hair and strong jaw, so similar in looks to George and yet more urbane and polished. And then George, listless as a caged animal…

  Hope clutched the shawl to her chest and made for Her Ladyship. George saw her first and, reaching for his crutch, made to stand.

  “No, please don’t get up, not on my account.” She said, touched by his gallantry.

  The remaining two Huntley males stared simultaneously. With uncharacteristic shyness, Hope hurried to Her Ladyship’s side.

  "Thank you, dear." Lady Ryevale placed the shawl over her shoulders. "Why, only just now Eulogy was saying what a help you are."

  "Miss Tyler, I do hope you don’t think I was gossiping, merely reflecting on how invaluable you are." Eulogy, Jack Huntley's wife, smiled trying to put her at ease. But Hope felt dowdy beside Eulogy's natural beauty, with her glossy chestnut hair, sweetheart face and large brown eyes. No wonder Jack seemed utterly smitten as he placed a solicitous arm around his wife's shoulders.

  "My dear, you look tired. Perhaps you should rest, this week we have a long journey ahead of us."

  Eulogy rolled her eyes and placed a hand on the gently rounded swell of her belly. “Honestly, you don’t need to fuss so.”

  "That's what I keep saying, but no one takes the blindest bit of notice." George interjected.

  Good-natured laughter rolled around the room.

  “Lady Ryevale, Mrs Huntley, sirs.” Hope inclined her head and made to leave.

  “Oh, but do stay, Miss Tyler, or Mrs Huntley and I will be outnumbered.”

  Heart pounding, Hope hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense, we want you to stay, don’t we George?”

  Captain Huntley looked nonplussed. "Of course."

  Hope glanced around for a seat. Jack and Eulogy occupied one settle, Lady Ryevale was stretched across the chaise longue, Charles in the armchair, which left George occupying half of a settle. With a sinking sensation, Hope hesitated at the prospect of sitting so close to him. George’s face a stiff mask, he inclined his head.

  “Don’t be bashful, Miss Tyler, you can sit beside me, I don’t bite.”

  She glared back—a look not lost on his brothers.

  “If you need lessons in charm, little brother, you only have to ask.” Charles fanned his fingers, inspecting his manicured nails with fascination.

  “I most certainly do not.”

  “He’s doing well enough as he is.” Jack winked at Eulogy, who frowned back.

  “Ssssh. Let it go.” Eulogy elbowed her husband.

  Her cheeks burning and acutely aware of the muscular bulk by her side, Miss Tyler trembled.

  “All I’m saying,” Jack plunged on, with the good humor of a man hopelessly in love “is once I was like him and couldn’t admit my feelings.”

  "Hush, dear, you're embarrassing your brother."

  “I don’t know what you mean.” George growled.

  “I too was blind," Jack plunged on, with the smugness of a reformed sinner "I denied my feelings because I was scared.”

  “I’ve never been scared in my life.”

  “…oh hush, George, and take a brotherly hint. Marrying Eulogy was the best thing I ever did. No one thinks less of you for having feelings.”

  Hope squirmed in her seat. At her side, George grew tense as a volcano about to erupt.

&nb
sp; "I can assure you, whatever foolish imaginings you have concocted, nothing could be further from the truth."

  Charles stretched languidly. "Perchance you protest too much."

  "Brother, I know you are merely trying to provoke a reaction… it's not going to work. You're flogging a dead horse."

  Hope stared helplessly from one to the other, wishing they would stop.

  "Now, now boys," Lady Ryevale interjected. "Let's not spoil these last few days together by scrapping."

  "Yes, Mother." Her boys muttered more or less in unison.

  "Besides, Hope's arrival is most timely," Her Ladyship continued brightly, "because, Charles, you were about to tell me about the Castelle's. I'm sure Hope will be intrigued to hear what you have to say"

  Dumbfounded, Hope's jaw dropped. A blush heated her cheeks as the morning went from bad to worse.

  "Mother? You are up to something." Charles looked mildly amused. "I can’t imagine what interest the Castelle's could be to either you or Miss Tyler. Apparently they withdrew from society almost twenty years ago."

  Hope sat rigid in her seat, silently fuming; whatever she had told Lady Ryevale about her mother had been under the influence of laudanum. However much Her Ladyship had done for her, didn’t give her the right to go delving into her past.

  "No particular reason. It’s just I was recently reminded of a contemporary of mine, Emma Castelle, and it put me in mind of her family."

  "Most unlike you, Mother, to want to know about the ton. I do believe you're plotting! How intriguing." Charles turned his velvet-brown eyes full square on Hope.