Chapter Sixteen
The evening after the ball, Eleanor dined with her parents. Unfortunately, there’d been no opportunity to speak with her father privately. After she refused her mother’s repeated requests that she stay at the house, her father insisted on walking her back to the cottage. But the hour was late, and she didn’t want to raise a topic that could conceivably take hours to discuss.
After seeing her safely inside and helping light candles, he bid her good night. She felt a sudden burst of affection for him. Despite his deep disappointment in her when she’d confessed her pregnancy, he had stood by her. He could be gruff, too quick to judge, and sometimes provincial in his thinking, but never had she doubted her father’s love for her. It still saddened her to recall how he’d grieved for his nephew, Benedict, who had died during the Peninsular campaign.
Eleanor glanced around the workroom, thought about straightening up, but quickly dismissed the idea. Whatever needed to be done could wait until morning. She made her way toward the back room, already tugging at her clothing. This room would always and forever remind her of Hugh. And with that thought, she sat down hard on the bed.
As quickly as she’d sat, she leaped to her feet. Before she had a chance to rethink her decision, she would go to him. She would tell him he was the father of a delightful little girl named Lili, who resembled him, with her dark hair and eyes. If he never wished to see Eleanor again, so be it. She was tired of carrying this burden of secrecy, of lying to him. He had a right to know he was a father. If he wanted to be a part of Lili’s life, he would devise a way to prevent a scandal. Hugh would help to ease her financial worries, and his connection to Lili would protect her. They could raise their daughter together.
Or not.
There could be a much different outcome. Lifting her skirts as she hurried along the path, she made straight for Longmere and would not allow herself to consider what that outcome might be. If she did, she’d lose her courage, and it was past time she showed some. Night sounds surrounded her, but none that didn’t belong. She was cognizant of the fact that an arsonist had been prowling about last night, but her newfound resolve wouldn’t allow her to dwell on it. As she drew near Longmere, the acrid odor of smoke and burned wood pricked her senses. Where the stables had stood, an empty space now yawned. Rubble was strewn about. Eleanor’s guilt ratcheted up a few notches.
What she hadn’t anticipated was someone standing guard. He called out to her. “Who’s there? Stop!”
Drat! She recognized Ned Martin’s voice. Nothing to be done about it. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Ned, it’s Eleanor. I need to see Sir Hugh.”
To his credit, he didn’t appear to be shocked. “Evening, Miss Broxton. I’ll get him for you.”
She looked him in the eye. “No. If you don’t mind, I’d rather find him myself.” He stared at her a moment, as if she might be up to no good. Finally, he stood aside and gestured. “Go ahead, then. And mind your step in there, miss.”
Thankful that Ned couldn’t see her flushed cheeks, Eleanor scurried past him and made her way in the dark toward the staircase. Hugh would be in his bedchamber. When she reached the gallery, she paused, listening. It was still and quiet, until she entered Hugh’s chamber. Then she heard the gentle susurrations of a slumbering man.
Softly, Eleanor moved toward the bed until she could discern his sleeping form. He lay on his side, with one arm flung out. His chest was bare, and his thick, dark hair looked like an ink stain on his pillow. She lowered herself to the bed and gazed on him. He was at peace. Didn’t Hugh deserve to rest? To have an undisturbed night’s sleep after the horrors of the previous night? Her resolve began to slip away.
And then his voice, low and menacing, startled her. “I know someone is there. If you value your life, you won’t move.” Eleanor nearly cried out in shock, but caught herself in time. “I’m going to slowly sit up, and then, whoever you are, you can explain what you’re doing in my bedchamber.”
He’d lied. He didn’t move slowly at all, but lightning fast, and before she could say anything, Hugh was on her, tackling her. She hit the floor with a thud and an unladylike grunt. “Oomph!”
Hugh’s big body covered hers. His big, naked body.
Suddenly, he went completely still. “Eleanor? Is that you?”
She couldn’t breathe and therefore could not answer. She nodded dumbly, her cheek rubbing against his chest. “Christ almighty! Have I hurt you? Of course I have.” He rolled off her, then helped her sit up. “What are you doing here? I thought you were an intruder.” He got to his feet. She hoped he intended to pull on his britches.
Eleanor waited a moment before speaking. “I wanted to see you. About…something.”
“Bloody hell,” Hugh said. “I completely forgot.” She glanced up at him, then looked away, embarrassed. He was aroused. Before she could object, he lifted her into his arms and sat down on the bed, holding her firmly on his lap.
“Good God, Eleanor. I wanted you so badly last night. After the ball, I’d planned to bring you here and make love to you in this bed. But things didn’t go according to plan.”
“Hugh, I can’t stay. Ned let me come in, and he’ll suspect something if I’m here too long.” His arms cocooning her made her wonder how she’d lived without their strength for so long.
“Ned will understand, and he would never give away our secrets.”
Secrets. Hadn’t she rushed over here to give up her own? “Hugh, I—”
“Shh. Make love to me, darling. Then we’ll talk, I promise. But let’s christen the new bed first. The new house.”
He buried his face in her neck, kissing, nipping, gently sucking. She was weakening. When she lifted her head, he turned her face so that he could kiss her. Gradually, her body relaxed into his, and oh God, nothing had ever been so arousing, yet so infinitely tender as this kiss. Eleanor would willingly give him her deepest self and, in return, take whatever he offered. She wanted him to bring her from darkness to light, if only for these few precious moments. This might be the end. The last time they made love.
And so she kissed him back, as though a kiss could be a panacea. As though their lovemaking could bring the peace and happiness she craved. Dragging her fingers through his silky hair, she murmured his name over and over. Hugh. Hugh. His hair smelled like soap and the out-of-doors. Feeling his thickness pressing into her, she shamelessly rubbed against it, making him gasp.
Laughing softly, he whispered, “Minx.” He tugged at her bodice until her chemise was revealed, and then pushed the thin straps off her shoulders. “Ah. What have we here?” Eleanor was wearing short stays. They laced up the front and took no time at all to divest oneself of, or, in this case, for Hugh to do it. He threw the garment to the floor, and now her breasts were fully exposed to him, the cool air raising gooseflesh on her skin. “God, you’re so beautiful, Eleanor. As lovely as a Botticelli.”
While he caressed her breasts, she threw her arms around him, stroking first his back and then his chest. In the darkness of the bedchamber, she could not see him well, but touching him, learning the shape of him, made up for it. By now, her breath was coming in short bursts. She ran her hands over each curve of sinew, each band of muscle, as though seeking the depth and breadth of him. Her fingers danced down his spine, and she felt him shiver. Sliding her hands around to his chest, she teased his nipples, just as he was doing to her.
Hugh lifted her off his lap and laid her on the bed. “I want to taste you, darling.” She raised her knees, and he gently spread her thighs apart, his breath coming hard. Lowering his head, he paused to look at her. She felt no shame, only a desperate hunger for him. He licked and sucked at the sweetness between her legs, and she moaned, writhing. When he slid a finger inside her, she came fast, intense spasms of pleasure seizing her, making her cry out with abandon.
He entered her, and she put her legs around his hips and drew him inside as far as she could. Hugh’s gaze was tender and devouring all at once. In this moment of their union, he was everything to her. With each thrust, she learned more of him. Understood the depth of him. And when his release came with a great, shuddering gasp, she found the peace she had been longing for. His lips brushed hers before he separated from her. He reached for a handkerchief and handed it to her, and when they had both cleaned themselves, he pulled her close.
“I love you, Eleanor. Every part of you. Your lustrous hair, your teasing lips, your smile. I love your breasts and hips and thighs. Your belly. Every inch of you.”
Her hand against his heart, she said, “Yes. I love you, too. So very much.” She felt the rush of tears, tried to hold them back, and failed. “Remember that.” Hot tears slid off her face and dripped onto Hugh’s hand.
“You’re crying, love. What is it? You arrived here tonight determined to tell me something, and I prevented you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”
“Of course it’s not nothing.” Gently, he pushed away from her, rose, and began to dress. Eleanor let the tears flow. She felt them dribbling off the sides of her face, past her ears, into her hair.
Hugh handed her a fresh handkerchief. “Stay right there,” he said, and hurried away. While he was gone, she dragged herself upright, blotted her face and neck, and blew her nose. How was she going to explain this? She must tell him everything, for Lili’s sake. For his sake. But now that she had the perfect opportunity, she would rather flog herself, like a Christian martyr. It would be less painful, in the end. A future together after she revealed the truth was about as probable as the Prince Regent reconciling with Queen Caroline. Hugh was back before she’d thought up any plausible excuse for weeping. He was carrying a bottle and two wineglasses.
…
They had declared their love for each other, and a few moments later, Eleanor was in tears.
Hugh was determined to get to the bottom of this. Whatever it was that caused her sadness and pushed her to the brink of exhaustion. If she loved him, surely she would confide in him. Tell him what was making her so unhappy. When he returned to the bedchamber, she was dressed. With a forced joviality, he said, “Come. Sit with me in the chair and have some wine.” When she did not move, he said, “Do you like port? It’s all I could find.”
“I do like it, but I’ll sit on the ottoman.”
Hugh lit a few candles and poured wine for them. He could barely believe this was the same woman who had just made such rapturous love to him. “Please, Eleanor, take the chair. It’s very plush, molds itself to your form. I insist.”
Eleanor obliged him and sank into the chair. Handing her a glass of the port, he lowered himself onto the ottoman. The silence stretched out, and he hoped the wine was relaxing her. Finally, he could wait no longer. “Do you want to tell me why you were crying?”
Her face was shadowed. “The last few months have been very demanding. I feared we’d never finish all our orders. As you well know, there’s a flurry of parties and balls before London’s elite take themselves off to their country houses after the Season ends, and the girls and I have been working ourselves to death.”
“So it’s fatigue that has you in such a fragile state?”
She bristled a bit at that.
“If I work hard to achieve a goal, is that the same as fragility? Do you consider yourself fragile when, after a day of lifting, hauling, cleaning up ashes and rubble, you’re exhausted?” Her chin wobbled.
Obviously, he’d said the wrong thing. Hugh looked down before she could glimpse the frustration on his face. When he raised his head, he hoped all traces of it were gone. “My apologies. I never think of you in that way, but tonight, you seem altered. And our situations are different, you must see that. I have plenty of help. If I’m worn out, I simply take myself off and have a rest. I wouldn’t need to be involved at all if I so chose. But you…you drive yourself, Eleanor. For a long time, I’ve been wondering why.”
She swallowed more wine. “I’ve explained before.”
“You have.” He cocked a brow at her. “Your reasoning doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. But let’s put that aside for now. How do you explain the sorrow and melancholy I see in your eyes? You accused me of wanting to know your secrets. I didn’t, then. But things have changed between us.” He reached out and caressed her arm gently. “I simply want you to know that you can tell me. Nothing you could say would make the slightest difference in my feelings for you.”
Her eyes shone with tears. “Thank you, Hugh. I’m afraid I don’t deserve your trust.”
“Why not let me be the judge of that?”
She set the wineglass down and covered her face with her hands. Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. At length she raised her head and fixed her eyes on him. “When you were in North America, I gave birth to a child. Our daughter. Her name is Lili, and she’ll be two years old in August.”
He stood abruptly and stared down at her. “My pardon. I must not have heard you correctly. I thought you said you—we—have a child. That cannot be right. I would have known. In two years, you would have told me.”
She said nothing, merely stared up at him with tears trickling down her face.
Never had he suspected such a revelation. She couldn’t have shocked him more if she’d said she was the Prince Regent’s mistress. He knew his voice sounded judgmental and cold, but the question must be asked. “You are certain the child is mine?”
An ironic laugh burst from Eleanor, and he glimpsed the hurt in her eyes. “Do you mean, did I have another lover after you? No, of course not. Lili is yours.”
He gulped the remainder of his wine, poured more, and began to pace. After a minute, he spun around to face her. “Why, Eleanor? Why keep it from me?”
She leaned forward slightly. “It was wrong of me. Unforgivable. And yet I hope you will forgive me. I am so terribly sorry for not telling you before now.”
“I asked you to inform me if there were consequences. A child qualifies, wouldn’t you agree? I even recall telling you Adam would know how to reach me. So I ask once again, why?”
“When I discovered I was with child, you were already gone to Canada. Would you have come running back to me? A woman you hardly knew, because I’d fallen pregnant after one reckless night of passion?”
He said nothing. His mind was still trying to take it in.
Eleanor misinterpreted his silence and said, “I thought not.”
“Do not turn this around and pretend I wronged you! If I’d known, I would have found a way. Requested leave to return to England so that we could be married. Perhaps we might have been married by proxy.”
She raised a hand, let it drop to her lap. “The likelihood of that happening was slim, since you’d only just arrived. Even you can admit that much. And I did not know you well enough to judge the kind of man you were.”
He took that as a subtle reference to his father. Hugh couldn’t deny that Benjamin Grey’s reputation as a libertine might put any young lady on her guard. “And after my return, when I so obviously cared for you? Why not then?”
She sighed audibly. “You said you wished to know if there were consequences, but isn’t that simply what gentlemen say under the circumstances? And when you came home, I had no idea what to expect. You’d been awarded a knighthood. You were rebuilding your home and your reputation. Proving to society that you were a better man than your father. The last thing I wanted was to drag you into a scandal.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Scandal be damned! You knew I cared for you. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I’m a wealthy man, Eleanor. I was in a position to help you—and our daughter.”
Eleanor said nothing, and after a few minutes, during which Hugh watched her between gulps of wine, he said, “Ned will accompany you home. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
“Hugh, please—”
He held up a hand. “Enough. No more tonight. We both need sleep.” Eleanor nodded, her lips pressed together so hard they were white. If Ned was surprised at Hugh’s request to walk her to the cottage, he didn’t let on. Hugh bid her a polite, restrained good night, if only to save face before Ned. Taking over guard duty was what Hugh needed. Perhaps the cool air would clear his head. What Adam had told him about Eleanor at the ball made sense at last. Hell, his own observations and reflections had finally become clear.
He paced about the property, pausing every so often to throw something onto the rubble heap. Gradually, shock loosened its grip on him, and clarity gained the upper hand. Eleanor had given birth to a child while he’d been away, and the likelihood that he was the father of that child was great. In fact, the odds of it belonging to anybody else were so small as to be nonexistent. Eleanor was not the sort of woman to keep a gaggle of lovers on a string. He believed her when she said he was the father of their daughter. Lili.
Where was Lili? Hugh was certain she was not currently at the Broxton home, or Eleanor would not be spending most of her time at the cottage. Unless…unless she didn’t wish to raise their child.
Who was caring for the babe? Was Eleanor’s obsession with her business more important to her than her child? He could not fathom why, rather than inform him they were to become parents, she would have chosen to give up the child. Because that was precisely what she must have done.
When dawn broke and there was enough daylight to ensure nobody would dare make trouble, Hugh shaved, bathed, and dressed. Although it was Sunday, because of the fire and the dire straits it had left them in, everybody had agreed to be back on site. He hoped to be done here by midmorning, so that he could call on Eleanor.
When he heard sounds of the workers arriving, he hurried downstairs and found Ned passing out scones and sausages. While waiting his turn, Hugh noticed Abbot standing a little removed from the others, drinking coffee and eating. He didn’t join in the talk. Definitely a man who kept to himself. Hugh would give his right arm to know what, if any, role he played in Eleanor’s life. Now that he knew she’d been lying to him for more than two years, how did he know she wasn’t lying about Abbot? Ridley showed up before long, and Ned handed him a mug of coffee. Hugh decided to let the architect walk around and study the damages on his own. After a time, he called Hugh over. “How did you manage to save the house?” he asked.
“We had a separate brigade for it. They had strict orders to douse any flames that came close, and they did their job.”
“I don’t see any water damage to the house, which is a blessing. We might have had to pull up floors and redo some of the framing.”
Hugh nodded. “I told the men to throw water on flames or sparks, but no water inside unless it caught fire. Fortunately, it never did.” Hugh glanced around, then at Ridley. “Where should we start?”
“Set your carpenters to work on rebuilding the items we need to complete the interior. The sooner that’s done, the sooner we can finish the kitchen, larder, storerooms. And the library. While they’re doing that, we’ll finish the walls and get all the windows hung.”
“I’m going to call the men over in a minute and have you instruct them. What about the stables?”
“Unless it’s a significant hardship to do without them, let’s leave them for last.”
“Agreed. A neighbor is stabling my horses temporarily, and I don’t expect him to quibble over a delay. And I would like to make the kitchen a priority. I’m growing weary of bringing in all the food.”
Ridley chuckled. “I can’t blame you for that.”
Hugh took a last swallow of coffee, then threw the dregs on the ground. “I’ve an appointment and will be gone the remainder of the day. You’ll stay?”
Ridley nodded. “I’m planning on it.”
“My thanks.” Hugh called to the men, who shuffled over and waited to hear what Ridley had to say. Meanwhile, Hugh took Ned aside and asked him to keep an eye on things during his absence.
“Consider it done.”
Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good fellow, Ned. The best.”