That was the problem.
“Did any splash on your robe?” He kneeled at her feet, doing his best to get the wine out of the carpet. She strove not to remember the last time that he’d kneeled at her feet, when he’d asked her to marry him and destroyed all her hopes of contentment.
Blindly, she glanced down at the thick velvet peignoir. If it was stained, the red material didn’t show it. Anyway, the last thing she wanted was his hands on her. Those hands made it so difficult for her to remember life’s hard truths. When right now, she needed to remember those truths more than ever.
“No. No, I’m all right,” she forced out of a throat pinched so tight that speaking hurt.
“Lucky,” he said, rising. He wasn’t someone who used his height to dominate, but sometimes like now, she couldn’t help noticing what a superb figure of a man he was.
Verena fought back her feminine pleasure in him. That would only weaken her, when she needed to be strong.
Eliot returned to the dressing room to empty out the red-stained water and get rid of the sodden towels. As he left, a bird chirped in the garden outside. Verena couldn’t remember the last time that she’d greeted dawn in a lover’s presence. Perhaps never. George had always done what he needed to, then returned to his own bed.
A second bird joined in as Eliot came back into the room, stopping in the doorway and studying her with more of that pestilential compassion that made her skin crawl. In an attempt to escape, she edged toward the curtained window.
“Are you going to lie to me and say George’s treatment had no effect on you?”
Verena, who had been preparing to do just that, sagged in defeat. “How could it fail to? I was only seventeen when we married and as innocent as a lamb, hard as you’ll find that to believe.”
“I don’t find that hard to believe at all.” He didn’t smile, although she wanted him to. She did her best to treat her awful marriage with mocking humor. Otherwise, the memories were unendurable.
She sighed, and at last let go of the pretense that she could hide anything from Eliot. He’d always seen too much. Dear God, he’d seen that she loved him, when she’d struggled so hard to keep that secret to herself.
That was yet another reason why she should stay a hundred miles from him. She didn’t want anyone to know her so well. “And of course, you’re right. He was a brute.”
“Of course he was. He hit you, and he bullied you, and he did his best to break your spirit.” Eliot’s voice was gentle, but she read rage on her behalf in his gray eyes.
She raised her chin and glared at Eliot. “He never did that.”
This time, Eliot did smile, a faint curve of his lips, as he stepped further into the room. “No, thank heaven.”
“And you won’t break me either.”
“I don’t want to break your spirit, my darling. I want you to be exactly who you are.” He spread his hands. “Haven’t you realized that yet?”
Everything she knew of the male sex told her that he didn’t mean it. “You want to own me.”
His smile faded, and his expression turned grave. “I want to love you.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not. I’m not George, Verena.”
No, he wasn’t. He was even more dangerous than George. She’d despised her husband, and she loved Eliot. George had harmed her irreparably, but only Eliot could break her heart.
“You’re a good man,” she said in a voice weighted with exhaustion. “Too good for me.”
Temper lit Eliot’s eyes. “Don’t start that again.”
His anger was so rare that she edged back toward the wall. “I swore when George died that I’d never marry again. I will never break that vow.”
His brief flare of rage disappeared under a profound hurt that made her feel like dying. She’d tried to tell herself that his supposed love was a passing fancy, and he’d forget her soon enough, once he no longer shared her bed. When she sent him away, she didn’t cause him any lasting injury.
That, to her bitter regret, had been another comforting lie.
As she beheld Eliot now, she saw so much that she hadn’t wanted to see before. So much that she still didn’t want to see. But something about this dawn encounter made it impossible to go on deceiving herself.
This man loved her. He loved her with a steady fortitude that made her ache with longing for what he offered. He wouldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t betray her. He respected her as an equal, which was something new in a lover.
Desire had brought them together. Tonight proved that desire still flared as bright as an exploding star. But the fuel that transformed the physical hunger between them to incandescent flame was love.
Yet, however much she loved him, she couldn’t become his wife. For so many reasons. Not least that he deserved better. He was all that was fine, whereas she’d been racing headlong toward perdition since the day her father gave her to that despicable degenerate George Gerard.
And, no, much as she loved Eliot, she didn’t want to marry again. Just the thought of placing herself under some man’s control tangled her stomach up into knots.
She might be lonely as she was. When Eliot walked away, she’d certainly be devastated. But she was free. And that kept her safe.
Or at least it had, until Eliot bloody Ridley stumbled into her life and made her question decisions that she’d taken years ago.
He must have read refusal in her face. She watched the light fade from his eyes, until he looked old and despairing in a way she’d never seen before. “You don’t trust me,” he said, the words toneless with misery.
She wanted to take him in her arms, but that would just extend the agony. “I don’t trust myself.”
He drew himself up to his full height, and the anguish in his face made her flinch. “You’re too afraid to break away from the past. George still holds you prisoner.”
She flinched again, because much as she hated to admit it, it was true. When she thought of marriage, the whole world turned dark and threatening. She found it hard to breathe.
No, she couldn’t marry anyone. Not even Eliot.
“Eliot, don’t ask for so much. Be my lover. Be my friend. But you’ll never be my husband. No man will be.”
She knew that he’d say no to what she offered. Although she wished to heaven that he wouldn’t.
“Verena, we can’t go back to where we were a month ago.” He sounded as if his last hope had been ripped away from him. She hated to do this to him. “Too much has happened. Too much has been said. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t want any other woman as my wife.”
“We could stay as lovers.”
“It’s not enough.”
No, she could see that wouldn’t be enough for him. Which meant that everything between them was now over. Although stupidly, she persisted in trying to change that conclusion. “It’s all I’m offering. Will you at least think about it?”
His lips turned down. “I did think about it before I proposed. I’m greedy, Verena. I want a full life, with you by my side. I want the world to know that we belong to each other. I want you to know that you’ve found safe harbor in my arms.”
Safe harbor. How lovely that sounded. But she was made to wander the lonely oceans alone. Eliot wasn’t for her. She was already shaking her head, as a great wedge of painful emotion blocked her throat. “I won’t marry you, Eliot. If you can’t accept what I’m prepared to give you, we must part.”
He still looked desolate. She tried to tell herself that it was better this way, rather than letting the affair peter out into recriminations and bitterness and resentment. Because in the end, he’d be angry with her for not giving him what he wanted. He was a man, after all.
“So what happens now?”
She tried to smile, but her trembling lips wouldn’t hold the curve. “We go back to where we were before we came together, although I suspect that your reputation as a saint might show a few cracks.”
He didn’t smile either. The lines between his nose and mouth were etched deep, and an unhappy furrow marked that noble forehead. “So you’ll take another man into your bed.”
She shrugged, although careless was the last thing she felt. “It’s what I do.”
His dark gold eyebrows lowered in a scowl. “Shelburn, I suppose.”
“That’s none of your concern.” Right now, the idea of starting another affair held no appeal, but perhaps a new lover might distract her from her heartache. Because she had no doubt that she’d miss Eliot like the devil. These last few weeks without him had been purgatory. She dreaded to think what this new goodbye was going to cost her in tears and futile longing and sleepless nights.
“You’re letting your fear win, Verena.” He studied her. Nobody had ever seen her so clearly. It amazed her that, seeing her so clearly, he still loved her. “I’d thought better of you.”
Her hand sliced the air in a disconsolate gesture. “Better I disappoint you now than when you’ve pledged your life to me. Go back to your world, Eliot. You never really belonged in mine. I certainly never belonged in yours. Let’s kiss and part.”
“Very well.” He stepped forward and caught her hard by the shoulders. She braced for an angry farewell, but when he kissed her, the contact was gentle and sad and sweet.
With a sigh that was burdened with a lake of unshed tears, she closed her eyes and yielded. As long as she lived, she’d carry the poignant memory of this tenderness with her.
His mouth pursued its soft exploration. His scent made her head swim. As heat rose and teased her senses, shaking hands clutched at his back. She pressed closer, feeling Eliot’s body stir.
Just as she wondered whether perhaps they’d end up back in her bed one more time, he drew away. “Think of me, Verena,” he murmured and turned to pick up his shoes and walk out of the room.
The soft bump of the door shutting behind him sounded like a death knell.
Chapter 14
When scandal finally broke, as it was sure to, it emerged from an unexpected direction.
The storm of gossip that engulfed the Ridley family had nothing to do with Eliot’s interest in George Gerard’s widow. Instead, it blew up because of his father, Imogen, Lord Halston, and most surprising of all, his self-effacing cousin, Stella Faulkner.
Halston hadn’t been pursuing Imogen at all, despite the rumors. Rumors that were in many cases founded on Lord Deerforth’s confident assertions to all and sundry that his daughter was about to become the next Countess of Halston.
Instead, it turned out that Halston’s interest had always been fixed on Imogen’s governess. His lordship and Stella had fallen in love without attracting the ton’s attention.
The marriage of one of London’s most eligible bachelors to a penniless governess with a shady background would have set tongues wagging anyway. Throw in the humiliation of Lord Deerforth, and however innocent she might be in the affair, his daughter, plus whispers of some fracas at the Lorimer Square house where Deerforth and Halston almost came to blows, and the whole situation provided irresistible fodder for tattle.
Eliot accepted an invitation to Stella’s wedding and because he was the only member of the Ridley family present, he agreed to give her away. For quite a while, he’d felt guilty about leaving his cousin in his father’s bullying charge.
Now that he had an opportunity to take Lord Halston’s measure, he found himself unexpectedly impressed. Although he couldn’t help observing the happy couple with a fair measure of envy. Their mutual love and happiness were palpable. It was what he’d dreamed of finding with Verena.
His head told him that there was no use in pursuing his headstrong lady further. She’d decided against him and wouldn’t change her mind.
His foolish, faithful heart couldn’t give up all hope of ever making her his. He supposed that, under the terms of his agreement with his father, he was now free to court Verena. He’d promised to refrain from causing talk until Halston and Imogen had sorted things out between them. Unexpected as the denouement proved to be, that particular issue had reached its end.
If only that made a difference to Eliot’s chances with his beloved.
The day after his cousin’s wedding, Eliot called on the Lorimer Square house. Imogen’s season had come to a disastrous end. Word of the ructions among the Ridleys had been out since last week, when Deerforth had bellowed his outrage without thought of who might hear him.
The nastier members of the ton, jealous of Imogen’s social success, were even now twisting the truth to say that she’d made a blatant play for Lord Halston and she deserved her downfall. Eliot was sure that within a week, poor Imogen would be spoken of as a greedy harpy with ambitions far beyond her reach.
Yet to Eliot’s surprise, his sister didn’t look particularly cast down when he met her in the house’s elegant morning room, with its view over the back garden, bright with spring flowers.
“Are you all right?” he asked, once they were alone together with the tea tray.
His father, to his relief, wasn’t home. Lord Deerforth had hunkered down at his club to escape the uproar. This afternoon, he wouldn’t barge in and somehow manage to make this mess all Eliot’s fault, as was his habit.
“Perfectly all right, although I’m sorry that I have to go back to Hamble Park in disgrace.”
Lord Deerforth was packing Imogen up and sending her back to Gloucestershire. Her season was over for this year, at least. Perhaps by next year, all this brouhaha would be forgotten and his sister could make a fresh start in society.
“I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this. You didn’t do anything wrong. If Father had an ounce of sense, he’d have kept his blasted trap shut.”
Imogen’s smile was rueful, as she sat on the chaise longue near the French windows and sipped her tea. “I mightn’t have done anything wrong, but people are still laughing at me. They say that I’m the girl fool enough to imagine that she’d caught the elusive Lord Halston, then found herself having to stomach her cousin marrying him instead.”
“I loathe society’s spite.”
Imogen shrugged. If she was crushed under romantic disappointment, she was doing a good job of hiding it. “People always love to talk.”
“It’s not so nice when they’re talking about you.”
“It’s not. But I doubt if my reputation will be in the doldrums forever.”
“Do you mind very much?”
“That Stella married Halston? Not at all. They’re so very much in love, and he wouldn’t have suited me at all.”
Eliot couldn’t doubt that she meant it. Relieved, he relaxed back in his chair and finished his cup of tea. “I’m so glad your heart isn’t broken. I feared it might be.”
Imogen responded to that idea with a dismissive laugh. “Goodness me, no. Although I might have married Halston to get my claws into the grounds at Prestwick Place. They make Hamble Park look like a wasteland.”
If Imogen was back talking about gardens, her exile hadn’t hit her too badly. “You’ll get a chance to finish your parterre now.”
“Yes, and Papa is feeling so guilty about spoiling my season, he’s agreed to let me build a lake. Or a large pond, at least. I also won’t have to dance with Lord Chippenham, just to keep Papa from nagging me. London will still be waiting next year. I imagine by then, nobody will care that I’m the girl Lord Halston overlooked.”
Eliot leveled a searching look upon her. “You’re being very sensible about all this.”
Surprisingly so. Since she’d come to London, his sister had changed. He supposed that she’d had a chance to find her own feet. It was difficult to recall the rather childish moping that she’d indulged in at first, when she’d been so homesick. Now it appeared that she was ready to weather a major scandal without turning a hair.
Imogen waved away the compliment. “What choice do I have?”
Eliot smiled. “None, I suppose. But you’re still impressing the life out of me, sis.”
> As she replaced her teacup on the tray, she shot Eliot a sharp glance. “Speaking of broken hearts, my dear brother, you’re looking rather gaunt.”
“Late nights of political discussion,” he said with a lightness that he didn’t feel. He was sure that the time would come when he’d manage to speak of Verena without feeling like he was being ripped into bloody gobbets. But just now, his failure in love was still too fresh.
“I like Verena.”
Eliot bit back a sigh. Despite his lack of encouragement, Imogen meant to persist in inquiring after his well-being. “Yes.”
“And so do you.” Imogen paused, and Eliot realized with a shock that the little sister he’d loved and protected and patronized no longer existed. This was a young woman with decided opinions and a surprising amount of acumen. “In fact, you love her. Are you going to marry her?”
To his surprise, he found himself answering honestly. “She won’t have me.”
If he’d been less heartbroken, he might have found it in him to appreciate Imogen’s unhidden incredulity at that statement. “But she loves you, too.”
Yes, Verena did, but that only seemed to make her more determined to refuse Eliot’s proposal. “She doesn’t think we’d suit.”
“Then she’s silly.”
Despite his wretchedness, Eliot couldn’t help laughing at that. “There speaks the fond sister.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true. You’re a good man with a kind heart. That’s rare enough to make you a catch, apart from the fact that all the girls sigh over how handsome you are.”
“All the girls, apart from the one girl I want, to my regret,” he said with a trace of bitterness.
“I suppose that she’s worried about causing a scandal. Everybody says that she’s wild and wanton, and you’re touted as a future prime minister.”
“I don’t care about a scandal,” he said grimly.
Two Secret Sins Page 13
