Moondrops (Love Letters) (5 page)

Like it or not—and he in no uncertain terms did not like it—he was intrigued by Elise. That, however, did not mean he could not just as easily become disinterested.

He hoped.

****

Emmaline’s fine-boned hand slapped hard against the wooden arm of her dining chair. Swallowing a startled gasp, Elise turned her gaze on her hostess, only to find the other woman grinning like a cat with a canary in its cheeks.

“Pardon?” Thinking she must have missed some shred of conversation, Elise automatically offered the politeness.

“Pardon you for what, my dear? Staring at a handsome dinner companion?” Emmaline looked from Elise to Hugh, then back again. Her eyes gave no indication of what was in the woman’s mind but there was, Elise saw, some speculation brewing. How could there not be? She had been, as Emmaline had so baldly stated, staring.

Humiliation brought a sour taste to her mouth. How could she behave so badly? She had never been to Almack’s or felt the touch of silk against her skin but that was certainly no excuse for acting common.

Hugh saved her from further embarrassment. His words, however, made her cheeks feel as hot as coals.

“Oh, Emmaline, you have got it all wrong.” His voice was neutral, bland almost, but the sparkle in his eyes could not be missed. Mistaken, perhaps, but missed? Never. “Miss Fulbright is not staring at me. Rather, she is being stared at—by me. It is hardly proper, I realize, to stare at dinner guests but in this case, it is impossible to resist. Our Miss Fulbright is so much more…” He stopped, gave Elise his full attention, tipping his head to one side and examining her as one would a bug beneath a microscope’s lens. She squirmed in her seat, feeling exposed to his perusal. Hugh’s lips curled upward at their corners, and he finished smoothly, “So much more refreshing than most of our other dinner guests have been. Don’t you agree?”

The sound of Emmaline’s tongue clicking against her teeth was her first response. Elise could not fathom her meaning but it seemed to amuse Hugh. He nodded, as if he’d heard a reply from their hostess.

“Precisely.” Hugh’s head jerked, the nod so forceful his mop of curls danced. He turned his attention back to her, and Elise resisted a new urge to squirm. “You are a breath of fresh air, Miss Fulbright. It is as if we have thrown wide the windows of this tired old manse, allowing a draft to penetrate and wash away the mustiness.”

Never had she been referred to as a draft. It sounded altogether too earthy for her taste. She wasn’t sure she liked the expression.

The words were out of her mouth before Elise realized they were in her mind. “Drafts can carry both sweet scents as well as ill winds. I’d think it wise not to encourage either to dine with you.”

The elderly woman’s laugh sounded stale, as if it hadn’t been used in some time. The first chortles reminded Elise of the noise the ducks living near Cornelia’s house made. Then, Emmaline’s voice gained strength, and her laughter turned full-bodied, yet elegant.

“You ought to watch yourself near our guest, Hugh. She is not one to be trifled with, evidently.”

“I was not trifling.” The bulleted reply came with an edge. “But you are right, as usual. Our guest wastes no time thinking; she has replies on the tip of her—” Hugh dropped his gaze pointedly to Elise’s mouth. She knew what he was looking for; she kept her teeth firmly clenched against the traitor living inside her head. He stared at her lips stubbornly, but she wouldn’t be cowed. Resignedly, Hugh sighed. “It seems our Miss Fulbright has words to spare at her disposal, right at the tip of that very sweet tongue.”

Had her ears deceived her? Was the man so rakish that he’d thrown decorum to the wind?

“Well, I never!” Elise’s fist tightened around the linen napkin on her lap. Emmaline’s snort of amusement made her grip immobile.

“Perhaps you should,” the rogue answered. He leaned closer, lowered his tone and, despite Emmaline’s presence as well as the dictates of polite society, said, “I daresay it might do you some good.”

Only a miracle saved the dining chair from toppling as she stood. Tossing her napkin to the table, where it landed on her plate, right in the remains of a congealed puddle of gravy, Elise fought for control.

“How dare you? How dare you take such a cavalier attitude regarding my modesty? Why, it is unthinkable!”

Her dining companions both stood when she rose. Their position, standing like storks around a birdfeeder, was ridiculous but that truth wasn’t the one foremost on her mind—or her tongue. Elise opened her mouth again, not sure what she was going to say but knowing full well she did not intend to remain under their roof for much longer. Before she could speak, she was cut off—again.

Folding her hands over her midsection, her ruby ring sending spirals of color across the white ceiling medallion, Emmaline said, “It seems that we have come to the interesting point in our evening, haven’t we? Time when all will be revealed—to you, my dear. That is, if you still care to hear what I have to say.”

The thought of uncovering the mystery regarding her summons to London was too big a temptation to ignore. The truth dangled like a carrot in front of her nose, making Elise feel every inch the horse.

How could she walk away now? Sending a last insulted scowl toward the man standing calmly beside her, she said, “I still care. But let’s make it fast. I’ve got better things to do than be insulted by the devil himself.”

“Fair enough,” Emmaline said. “Shall we retire to the sitting room? It is far more comfortable than here, and we shall be talking well into the night.”

****

Firelight danced along the high ceiling. For a long while Elise stared at the undulations above her, willing her racing pulse to slow and making a very strong attempt to rein in the temper burning within her. The source of that irritation sat on the other side of the room, a silent presence who seemed not to be at all remorseful over his display of bad manners.

Had she been less restrained, Elise would have heated one of Hugh’s cheeks with a slap of her hand. But restraint came with knowing one’s place in the world, and had been part of her character from her earliest days.

What she would have given for a dash of recklessness now.

Her hostess claimed her fireside chair the instant they entered the sitting room. She sat silently, looking into the flames beside her as if searching for something. The air about her was leaden, perhaps the weight of unspoken words creating a silent cloud around her head.

His voice came from across the room, low and authorative. “Don’t you think it’s time, Emmaline? Our Miss Fulbright—”

“I am not ‘your’ Miss Fulbright! You’ve spoken thusly several times, and I’ve let the annoyance pass, but I am done making allowances for you.” She spoke to the corner of the room where she knew he stood. The man was shadowed, only the outlines of his muscular physique somewhat clear. There was no need to see him, however, to feel his presence. It was strong, commanding and, at this point in the evening, overwhelming.

Everything about this trip and the infernal letter overwhelmed her now. How had she gotten so tangled in this mess? For that was undoubtedly what this was, a mess of the first order. Her life had been ordinary—on the duller side of ordinary, actually—before the London post had shown up.

Elise wished she had never received the mysterious letter. Never before had she been as confused as she was now. Never.

Confusion mixed with surprise when his reply came from the darkened corner.

“I apologize for offending you. It was not my intention.”

What could she say? Nothing came to mind, so she looked down at her hands in her lap. An apology…could it be for his outrageous dinner remarks or did he just mean to take back the “our” business?

“Emmaline and I have gotten into the habit of thinking of you as ours, Miss Fulbright. Haven’t we, Emmaline?”

Pulled from her contemplation fireside, her hostess raised her head.

“Hmm? What was that, Hugh?”

Four steps brought him from shadow to firelight. When he stood before the mantel, he leaned an elbow on the wide oak ledge. He was the only one who looked at ease.

“I was just saying that you and I have become accustomed to thinking of Miss Fulbright as ours, haven’t we? Of course, she is probably now wondering why we would believe that is the case, so don’t you think it’s time to tell your guest why you wrote that letter?” He and Emmaline locked gazes, and while Elise saw something pass unspoken between them, she couldn’t fathom what secret they shared. All traces of ill humor were gone when Hugh gently added, “It is time, Emmaline. Tell her. You will both be better for the telling, I promise.”

A waver crept into Emmaline’s voice. “I hope you are right, Hugh. I admit I am having second thoughts…”

Watching the carrot dangling before her being snatched away tore an exclamation from Elise’s throat. “Don’t even think about not revealing whatever it is you so closely guard. I have come all the way from Essex, been held captive in this home, subjected to insults and now you say you are having second thoughts? Balderdash! I will not stand for it! No, you shall tell me what I want to know or I will…I will…”

She would what? No suitable threat came to mind so Elise scowled, hoping the uncharitable expression might force an explanation from the old woman.

Emmaline and Hugh both looked shocked by the outburst, but only for an instant. Then, they stunned Elise by, of all things, laughing. Loud. Hard. Laughter—after she’d scowled her most ferocious scowl at them!

Whatever shall I do now
?

Saving her from figuring it out, Emmaline clutched a hand to her bosom and gasped, “Forgive us, please. We are not laughing at you, but with you.”

“I did not make a joke—”

“No,” Emmaline said, wiping a tear from beneath one eye with the tip of the ruby-dressed finger. “Not a joke, but a similarity brings us amusement.”

They were mad. They had to be. How else to explain this craziness?

“A similarity?” Elise felt like a parrot.

“That’s right,” Hugh said, clearing his throat. He was doubly handsome when he laughed. “Your expression is so similar it is almost magical.”

Elise looked askance from one to the other. “My expression? Magical? Whatever are you going on about? Whose expression is mine similar to?”

“Why, your father’s, of course.” Emmaline pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her cuff, dabbed at her eyes, then her nose. She nodded, a brisk movement that brooked no argument, and repeated, “Yes, your father had that exact same scowl and he wasn’t—as I daresay you aren’t, either—afraid to use it.”

Chapter 5

Grabbing an armful of Elise’s soft breasts hadn’t been intentional—although it wasn’t unwelcome. There had been no way to avoid the matter, not if he expected to catch her before she hit the floor.

She was a feather in his arms. Cradling her head against his chest, Hugh crossed the room and placed Elise’s still form on the low settee nearest his leather chair. Looking down on her, he saw, not for the first time, just how beautifully arranged her features were. Wide eyes, closed now, an upturned nose and full lips all found their place on her heart-shaped face. If he were the type of man to be sucked into a woman’s grasp by the sight of a pretty face, he wouldn’t stand a chance of resisting Elise Fulbright.

Fortunately, he wasn’t that type of man.

He never had been, anyhow.

“Move aside. How can I tend to her when you’re practically holding her hostage?” Emmaline elbowed his ribcage, sending a sharp pain that reminded him to breathe. “Oh, good. Henry, you’re here, and with the—”

Elise stirred. Her eyes fluttered, and then opened. She tried to sit, but Emmaline pushed her back against the tufted upholstery.

Handing a small brown vial back to the butler, Emmaline said, “Never mind. We won’t need this after all. But some tea, perhaps?”

“Tea be damned. We’ll take more potent libations, Henry.” Hugh, for one, could do with a whiskey, and said as much.

From the settee, a wobbly voice said, “Make that two. Please.”

“Tut-tut.” Emmaline helped Elise—who was undeterred in her insistence to sit up—but looked disapproving at the woman’s drink request. “Won’t a nice, hot cup of tea be more the thing? After all, you’ve had quite the shock, haven’t you?”

Elise began to pull her features tight. Abruptly, she stopped mid-scowl. Hugh was fascinated by the way she relaxed her facial expression, bit by bit, as if afraid of revisiting the statement that brought on her swoon.

She swept a hand down the front of her dress, over the bosom he’d so recently held close. Then, her lips set in a straight line, she shook off the notion of tea. Turning to Henry, who stood stock-still as was his station, Elise insisted, “Whiskey, Henry, please. And don’t be stingy about it, either. I have a feeling I’m going to need every drop I can manage to pour down my throat.”

That makes two of us, Hugh thought as his gaze faithfully followed Elise’s hands. She straightened the bodice of her dress. Only he knew that the innocent ministration affected him in ways he would not dare to reveal in polite company.

****

Her father wasn’t even a distant memory in Elise’s mind. He had left just after her second birthday, just about the same time her mother began to show signs of being pregnant. That, her mother’s embarrassment over being with child and on her own, she remembered…in a vague sort of way.

Her mother’s tears, mingled with her own sobs over watching her mother’s despair, were only drowned out by the eventual cries of newborn Louise. Elise and Louise never knew exactly where their father went, only that he abandoned them. And that, Elise had always believed, was the only thing that mattered.

She wasn’t proud of her father, the way Cornelia was of hers. She was angry with him for having deserted their mother, leaving her with the responsibilities he so clearly didn’t care to shoulder. But she didn’t resent him, either. It would have seemed likely that she might, but the one—and only—lesson her father taught Elise was to be distrustful of men. He’d shown what scoundrels they could be, and she was grateful to learn the lesson through example rather than the shattering of her own heart, the way her mother had done.