Lord Lightning (7 page)

Gingerly she explored her body. Except for the throbbing in her head, nothing hurt. And most oddly, her underdrawers were still in place. She knew from what little she had heard that ruin should involve the removal of her drawers.

There was a knock at the door and a maid came in, bringing with her a tray on which reposed a cup of tea and some toast. She set it down beside Eliza, curtsied, and just before making her exit, informed her that when she had finished with her breakfast Lord Hartwood would be pleased to see her in his study.

She sipped her tea; her stomach was not yet up to dealing with toast and at the thought of having to see Lord Hartwood, it heaved. Eliza could not imagine how she would face him again. But she
must, if for no other reason than that there was no other way to determine what had happened. It was a good thing her Aries Ascendant gave her courage. She would need it to get through the upcoming interview.

Unlike Eliza, Edward awoke with a surprising feeling of lightness in his heart and a sharp appetite. The light that filtered through his curtains seemed crisper than usual, the air, more bracing. His valet, who always tiptoed as quietly as possible in the morning, having suffered in the past from the uncertainty of his master’s temper at that early hour, was greeted with a hearty “Good morning” and an unexpected smile. Edward was surprised at his own good humor—good humor that was all the more surprising considering the abortive nature of the previous evening’s encounter.

But it was exactly that which was the source of his unusual lightness of spirit. Somehow, last night, he’d done the honorable thing, though to do so had gone much against his natural inclination. The warm, happy feeling he felt welling up within him now must be that emotion with which he had almost no experience—the satisfaction of a virtuous deed well done. He savored it. Such a feeling was not likely to come his way again. He had no intention of making a habit of virtue.

He finished his breakfast, dressed with his valet’s help, and then made his way down to his study. Of course, after what had happened, he’d have to dismiss the little fortune-teller. There was
no possibility now of making her his mistress. That was vexing, to be sure, as he would have to face his mother without a mistress in tow. But he’d pay off the girl generously despite what had happened. No doubt she’d be thrilled by her narrow escape.

He basked for a moment more in the glow cast by his unaccustomed act of charity, then he turned back to business. There were a few more letters to write before he headed out to Brighton, in particular, a delicate one addressed to his father’s ex-mistress, Mrs. Atwater. She would serve his purpose almost as well as a mistress of his own, and it would be a simple matter to enlist her in his scheme as she was so very fond of money.

But no sooner had he trimmed his pen than there was a rap on the door and a footman announced, “Your Lordship, Miss Eliza requests a moment of your time.”

Miss Eliza? He searched his mind, wondering to which lady of his acquaintance the footman might be referring. Then he realized. It must be the little fortune-teller. He hadn’t even asked her Christian name.

He barked out his permission for her to enter, and she came into the room, closing the door gently behind her. She made her way over to his desk and stopped awkwardly before him with a look on her face much like that of a pupil who had been sent to the headmaster’s office. She was clad once again in her heavy gray wool Quaker’s dress with her auburn hair bound up in a tight knot at
the back of her head. She had even more freckles scattered across her flaming cheeks than he had remembered.

In the clear light of morning, it was inconceivable to him that such an ordinary creature could have inspired him with the passion he remembered sweeping over him the previous night. But swept over him it had—until he had been stopped in his tracks by that unaccountable need not to hurt her. The memory brought with it the disquieting vision of her auburn hair let loose and spread around her, and as their eyes met, he realized with some surprise that, despite his good intentions, the oddity of the situation left him with no idea of what to say to her. Eliza stood silent for a moment, too, twisting her fingers together, clearly finding it difficult to speak.

Finally she blurted, “Your Lordship, though it is embarrassing to admit it, I am not at all sure of what took place between us in the course of last night. So I must beg Your Lordship to answer me frankly. Am I ruined?”

Her predicament was far from humorous, but, even so, he was tempted to laugh. Though he was not used to thinking of himself as a man much given to laughter, something about being with Miss Farrell made laughing easier. He collected himself. “Your reputation is gone as you have spent the night unchaperoned in my house. But beyond that, nothing happened.”

“You are very certain of this, Your Lordship? There can be no mistake?”

Her face bore such an earnest look as she waited to learn her fate that he experienced once again a most unexpected burst of happiness at the thought that he had not, after all, made her his victim.

“I am completely certain,” he said gently. “You may go to your wedding bed secure in the knowledge that you are a maiden still. The brandy was too much for both of us. You dropped off into a sound sleep early on. I did so shortly after. No harm was done.”

The relief that flooded her features was followed almost immediately by anxiety. “Then you did not make me your mistress?”

“No. I thought better of it. It was a foolish idea and I’ve given it up entirely.”

Her face fell. “Then I shall have to pay back the money you sent to my father.”

“There is no need to do so. Consider it a gift. And here-” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out some banknotes, which he placed at the edge of his desk so she could reach them. “Here are fifty pounds. Our arrangement is over. The money will help you get settled again somewhere new.”

She made no move toward the notes, but simply said in an uncertain voice, “So you wish me to leave?”

“Surely that must be what you yourself would wish for.”

Surely it should be, Eliza thought. But oddly, it was not.

Though she should be feeling only relief that she had escaped the consequences of her rash and headstrong decision the previous day, and escaped them, moreover, in possession of fifty pounds she could never have earned on her own, Lord Hartwood’s words had filled her with a sense of loss. She struggled to account for this wholly unexpected emotion, but could come up only with the explanation that though she had read the horoscopes of many distinguished and powerful men, this was the first time she had been given the opportunity to observe such a man in person and see the planets on his chart come to life. It was hard to taste such delight so briefly and then be forced to leave it behind.

And there was something more: Despite all the terrors of the previous night, there had been something exhilarating in the upheaval that had taken place in her situation. It had been frightening, to be sure, but the glimpse of his world that Lord Hartwood had given her made it hard to resign herself to returning to the dull life of a bookish middle-aged spinster.

She sighed. Aunt Celestina would have called her ungrateful and she knew she should be glad she was not a fallen woman. But as she watched His Lordship’s long elegant fingers toy with his pen—those very same fingers that had awakened such inexplicable feelings in her body the previous night—she knew that even though he had not ruined her, Lord Hartwood’s subtle touch had awakened something in her that would not
easily go back to sleep. The morning light, which poured through the window, illuminated the tuft of silvery curls at the base of his neck, reminding her how her exploring fingers had discovered its silken texture and the warmth and richness of his golden skin. A sensible woman would have delighted in her narrow escape, but the effort it took to force her mind away from that memory told Eliza how far she was from being sensible.

Besides, Aunt Celestina was dead, and she had no one now to turn to for protection but the father who had abandoned her shortly after her birth, who had greeted her arrival in London with happiness, to be sure, but only because it meant he could gamble away the small inheritance her aunt had bequeathed her. So she stood before Lord Hartwood and chewed her lower lip like a schoolgirl as she pondered her next step. At last she spoke. “If I should wish to stay, my lord? What then?”

What then indeed? Edward sighed. He should have known after the events of the previous night that nothing involving the little fortune-teller would be easy.

“Yesterday you spoke repeatedly of the importance you placed on finding a mistress to accompany you to Brighton to claim your inheritance,” she reminded him.

“I did.”

“Might I not be that woman still?”

Not likely! He would not go through another
night like the last one. If she put herself in his power again, he would take her. “I assure you,” he said curtly, “I no longer have any desire to make you my mistress.”

“Was it my freckles?” she asked sadly. “Did it appall you to discover I was so completely covered with them?”

Freckles? What had they to do with anything?

“Or was it because I didn’t know what I was doing?”

Suddenly it struck him what she was asking. “Your freckles make you surprisingly attractive,” he lied nobly. “And besides, virgins aren’t supposed to know what they’re doing.”

“Then why do you no longer want me? You said it was important that you take a mistress with you to Brighton.”

He frowned. He should have known he would not be left to savor his one good deed. Like all women, she would not leave without first making a scene.

Testily, he explained, “I do not want you, Miss Farrell, because, as much as I wished to take a mistress with me on this accursed visit, I realized, just before it was too late, that I couldn’t afford to make
you
that mistress.”

“But I asked so little! You said yourself, I asked less than the price of your last mistress’s earbobs.”

“Indeed. And that proves my point. Had you not been so utterly unsuited to the role of mistress, you’d have asked for a great deal more.” He saw her flinch, embarrassed at his words. “Miss
Farrell, do you realize that I might have given you a baby had things gone to their natural conclusion last night?”

“But surely it takes much more than one such experience for that to happen,” Eliza replied. “It must be quite difficult, or why would so many wives have come to Aunt Celestina for advice when they were unable to conceive?”

“It takes but a single moment to conceive a child.”

The look of shock on Eliza’s face made him thank whatever restless spirits still watched over him that he had not taken her last night.

“Eliza,” he said gently. “I’m not used to the society of women like yourself. The women of my world are hard and calculating. I’d come to think all women were like that, so by being as you are, frank and open, you’ve taught me something new about women that I’m glad to know.” Though she’d also taught him that in the future he must give women like herself a wide berth. Given another scene like last night’s, he knew what the outcome would be. It was only one of his famous unpredictable quirks that had saved her.

Still, he felt a moment of regret at the thought of having to give up all contact with her. There was something so novel about being with a woman who had not sought him out because of his blackened reputation or the size of his purse. Nor could he deny that it had given him an odd sort of pleasure to hear the glowing terms with which she had described his character, even
though she was, of course, completely wrong. But that reminded him how impossible it was that she should stay.

He cleared his throat. “You spoke last night, as you looked at your horoscopes, of love. Had I truly made you my mistress, it’s likely you now would think yourself in love with me. If that had happened, I would have had no choice but to dismiss you immediately—to protect you from yourself.” He saw her poised to make some reply but did not give her a chance to contradict him. “The touch of a woman’s body, no matter how intimate, does not open my heart to love. I cannot love. Were you to love me, I could only damage you.”

“But surely, my lord, you could
learn
to love?”

“It’s unlikely.” He glanced at the heavy signet ring on his third finger. “My father, Black Neville, was a notorious rake who nearly ruined our family to satisfy a mistress’s demands. My brother was even worse. He seduced a gentlewoman, and when she fell pregnant, he abandoned her. Attempting to bear his child sent her to her grave.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. “That is the nature I inherited. I am my father’s son and my brother’s brother. You would be wise to believe what I tell you, rather than become another of my victims. Believe me, I cannot love.”

Eliza felt her heart go out to him. A Leo who couldn’t love! And yet, the words he spoke so bleakly were so completely at odds with the life
and warmth she sensed imprisoned behind his harsh façade. He must be wrong. But even if he was not, whatever had hitherto been his experience in life, the chart she had examined the previous evening told her he stood on the brink of a great change. If ever he was to be able to break free and open up his heart, it was now. But to make the most of it, he would need her help.

He had turned away from her, and all she could see of him was his tousled pale curls. There was something so vulnerable about the sight. She yearned to reach out and comfort him. But as she leaned toward him he snapped to attention and swiveled back, fixing her with a look that seemed to strip her clothing off her body and made her quiver to her very bones.

No, she could not be his mistress. He was right about that.

She hadn’t understood the words he’d muttered last night about opening his purse in the case of unexpected consequences. Her heart contracted at the thought that she might have borne him a bastard child! She remembered, too, the feeling of wrongness that had swept over her even as her body had begun to respond so unexpectedly to his touch. Though his body had been in the grip of something irresistible, it had not been love, and even as she had responded to it, she had sensed that his passion had disturbed him as much as it frightened her.