Behind the Mask (House of Lords) (23 page)

"You take my breath away," he said.

She smiled up at him, and then, his hand still in hers, she pulled him down atop her, spreading her legs to welcome him.

"Eleanor," he whispered, "I cannot wait much longer."

She shook her head and reached down to undo his trousers. "Now," she said, releasing him and running her fingers over his length. "Take me now."

He found her entrance and pressed against her. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"You won't."

With a moan, he thrust into her. Her silken passage enfolded him, and as he pushed deeper he realized that she had meant it. He would not hurt her. He had suspected she was not a virgin, of course, and he really didn't care whether she was or not. But now he understood why she had known what to do, why she had taken such a commanding lead. Then she moved her hips against him and pressed her lips to his neck, and he forgot everything he had been thinking. There was only her, warm and enticingly wet, her body driving him wild with desperation as he thrust into her again and again. At last he felt her body convulse beneath him, and she sobbed with pleasure against his shoulder. A few more thrusts and he joined her, spilling his seed into her, his lips against her hair. She fell back into the cushion of her petticoats and he collapsed atop her, gasping for breath.

They lay like that for a long while, but at last he said, "We should get dressed."

"Yes," she said.

He withdrew from her and held his hand out to help her rise. She found her chemise and slid into it, watching him as he buttoned his shirt and slipped on his waistcoat. She tied on her petticoats and then said, "Will you lace my gown?"

When they were both as presentable as possible, he took her in his arms and kissed her again, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. "Thank you, Eleanor," he said softly. "This is a precious gift you have given me."

Looking rather bemused, she said, "You're not angry that I'm not...not a virgin?"

He shook his head. "Not in the slightest," he said, "though if some bastard hurt you I promise you I will hunt him down."

"No," she said. "I made a foolish choice when I was very young. I always believed that no man would want me after that, or that if he did he would punish me the rest of our married lives once he discovered the truth."

"You may be sure you will receive no such treatment from me," he promised. "I know better than most people that everyone makes foolish mistakes when they believe they are in love."

“Do you?” she asked.

For an instant he thought of telling her what had happened in Vienna, of the disgrace that had sent him fleeing to Brussels. But he could not bear for her to think of him what others who knew the whole truth did. For a little while longer, at least, he wanted to see that admiring glint in her eyes, to know that she trusted him to take care of her. She might not feel the same way when she learned what had transpired that night. So he said simply, “It is a story for another time.”

She nodded. “Shall I do as my mother suggested and escort you up to your rooms, Lord Pierce?”

“It would be a pleasure, Miss Chesney,” he said, holding out his arm for her. On silent feet they left the library and went up the stairs. It was only when they reached the top and had to part that he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Good night, Eleanor,” he said.

“Good night,” she whispered. Then she turned and disappeared down the corridor to her chamber, and Colin did the same.

FIFTEEN

September 1, 1834

Eleanor slept indulgently late the next morning. Lily had already gone off to bed when she had slipped into her chambers at last, and Eleanor had no illusions that her maid did not guess where her mistress had been. And yet when Lily arrived at last with her breakfast on a tray, she said nothing about Eleanor’s late night, and nor did she ask any questions. Lily had been with Eleanor since she was sixteen, and was one of only three people in the world who knew what had happened that summer. But unlike Toby, Lily had never abandoned Eleanor, had never passed any judgment on her behavior. They were of an age, Eleanor and her maid. They had been born the same year, Eleanor at the great house and Lily in Porter-on-Bolling. They had even known each other when they were girls, though Lily had always been shy and quiet, and it had been quite a surprise to find her working as an upstairs maid at the house when Eleanor had returned from the Moreton School. They had been together ever since, and Eleanor knew that Lily was unfailingly loyal. She had never asked the woman to lie for her, and yet Lily had kept her secret all these years, had hardly ever spoken a word about what had happened except to explain, her face turning a brilliant shade of scarlet, how Eleanor would know for certain there would be no evidence of her disgrace.

And it was a disgrace. Eleanor had known that from the moment she came out of that trapdoor at the castle and saw Toby spreading his cloak over the ground, ready to welcome her with a bottle of his father’s best wine. She had not hated herself in that instant, but it had not taken long after that night for her to understand how much shame would rain down upon her if anyone ever discovered her foolishness. And yet she had gone back, swayed by Toby’s insistence that he loved her, that they would be married, that they would be together forever.

What had she known then of love? For that matter, what did she know now?

Sitting in the little chair before her windows, watching the fog rolling out of the valley, Eleanor allowed herself to mull over that question.

Could she come to love Colin? She was certainly attracted to him. From the moment she had seen him in the hall of Sidney House in London she had wanted him—she was able to admit that now, though she had tried to deny it then, to tell herself that the rapidness of her heartbeat and the trembling of her fingers had been merely annoyance at the inconvenience he posed. When had she finally realized that it was not annoyance but attraction that she felt? Eleanor closed her eyes and leaned her head back, picturing a moment not four days ago, in a nameless village, when she had blushed to tell him that her mother had encouraged her to marry so that she could take a long honeymoon on the Continent. He had not scoffed at her or appeared to suspect her motives. Instead he had smiled and said that she would enjoy it. But it had not been that moment—it had been something after that, she thought now. When she had mentioned a Russian novel she had read, he had looked at her so strangely, something in his expression that was almost like...respect.

Toby had wanted her. She knew that. Perhaps he did still. But there were very few men who respected her intelligence, who understood her love of learning. Now, with a wry laugh, she thought back to another afternoon, barely a week ago, when Lord Marsh had sat in the drawing room and told her that he did not mind her reading French and German and Russian, but that she would certainly have to give it up once they were married, as he believed that foreign languages were too taxing for the brain of a breeding woman.

At least she knew that Colin would never ask
that
of her. If anything he would want her to speak three languages to their children to give them an advantage over those of other diplomats.

The thought of children, of having a child with Colin, brought an unexpected warmth to her heart. When Georgina had said that Eleanor had not shown much interest in Clarissa’s infants, she had been right, but not for the reason she suspected. Eleanor had never expected to have children of her own. Though she was barely twenty-one, she had begun to expect that she would remain as she was now, at her mother’s side, always doing her duty. The pain of watching Clarissa’s joy, of seeing her friend and her husband rejoicing in the new life they had brought into the world, was almost too much for her to bear.

But now she would have that chance. There were many things about the future that were uncertain. She had no idea where she would be living in a week, or if she and Colin would ever come to love each other, but she knew that at least now she had an opportunity to live the life she had always wanted.

Perhaps she could love him for that alone.

But would he love her?

Eleanor was not particularly romantic. She had always enjoyed romantic poetry, of course. She had wept over Tennyson and despaired over Byron. Every once in awhile, when she sang a plaintive romantic ballad, she felt the great emotion of the song so strongly that she was moved to tears. But she had never expected to feel those emotions herself, and after Toby had so callously deserted her she had begun to think that no one would ever feel them for her, either. Colin certainly did not strike her as a romantic soul. It was possible, she supposed, that he was not capable of the sort of love the Lady of Shalott felt for Lancelot in Tennyson’s great ode. It was also possible that she was not capable of it, either. But one thing she did know: they could be comfortable together. They could be happy.

Perhaps that would be enough.

Before Colin could even get downstairs a footman found him with a note from the village. Colin tore it open and read it as he made his way to the dining room, where Strathmore was already awaiting him.

“The doctor has finished his examination of Yates’s body,” Colin said. “He wants me there as soon as possible.”

Strathmore looked up from his breakfast and gave a low whistle. “Clocked you, didn’t he?”

Colin winced, which only made his swollen eye hurt more. He had tried to tell himself that the purple bruise forming over his cheekbone was not that noticeable, but clearly he had been wrong. Still, he could hardly fault Strathmore for seeing what was obvious, could he? And Colin had to give the young man credit: he had had a strenuous two days, and yet here he was ready for more action. “Would you like me to come along?” Strathmore asked now, wisely turning back to the original subject.

Colin shook his head. “I’ll need you here when Colonel Taylor arrives. Did you see Crawley at Hafeley, by the way?” Colin was eagerly anticipating the arrival of the third member of his team, since it would mean he could approach the problem of the Serraray with more strength and knowledge on his side.

“I did,” Strathmore said. “Though only for a few moments. He was equally disgusted with Sir John’s recklessness.”

“Criticize the man all you like,” Colin said, “but you have to admit he’s determined.”

“Indeed.”

“You’ll keep an eye on things while I’m gone, won’t you?” Colin asked. Strathmore nodded seriously. Scooping up a piece of toast, Colin turned and went through the salon, nearly colliding with Miss Georgina as she came down to breakfast.

“Good morning, Lord Pierce,” the girl said. She was clutching a book to her chest, and she did not quite meet his eyes as she asked, “Are you off already?”

“I have to go down to the village,” Colin said, feeling awkward. Tomorrow he would become this girl’s brother-in-law, and she was little more than a stranger. “You can call me Colin if you like,” he offered.

She smiled. “Of course. Oh, I almost forgot! I saw Thomas in the hall, and he asked me to tell you he did catch Mr. Jameson with that letter before he left for the village.”

Colin nodded. “Thank you, Georgina,” he said. She stared at him quizzically for a moment, and he explained, “I thought I ought to inform my parents of the wedding, though of course there is no possibility of them arriving here before the event takes place.”

Georgina gave him a sympathetic look. “Perhaps you will be able to visit them soon.”

“I hope so. I think they would like Eleanor very much.”

She sighed. “Everyone does, though poor Eleanor doesn’t seem to realize it.”

Then she was gone. Colin stared after her. There had been a set of twins in his year at Eton, sons of the Marquess of Sligo, who were so alike it was difficult to tell them apart, and it had not helped that their personalities were equally similar. Colin had constantly confused them with each other, but he had managed to become accustomed to the uncanny sameness of the two boys, and so he found the Chesney twins’ dissimilarity quite perplexing. They looked alike enough, of course, with their mother’s curvy figure and dark hair, but their personalities were as different as night and day. He wondered if Georgina had become so retiring and yet so insightful because of her sister’s vivaciousness, or if it were the other way around. Either way, he suspected there was more to both of the girls than met the eye, and he regretted that he did not have time to get to know them better before he became one of their family. It would not help that he meant to return to the Continent as soon as possible, which would limit future opportunities to further their acquaintance. But Colin was eager to get back to the work for which he was cut out.