The Scoundrel's Secret Siren (22 page)

She saw one of his hands tighten on the armrest of his chair and wondered if he would fly to his feet and sweep her into his arms. Lorelei’s breath caught as she pictured this scenario unfolding, and while she was very vague on the particulars, she knew in chilling realisation that she would not have the strength to refuse him.

Instead, he drained his bourbon, rose to his feet and cleared his throat. Lorelei set aside her cup, also rising.

“Well, Miss Lindon. I must be off to my club. I will wish you a good night: no doubt you desire to recover from your exhaustion.”

“Oh… yes. Certainly. Of course. Thank you for escorting me here.”

“Your servant, madam.” With a formal bow, he was gone and Lorelei was left alone in the library.

The sudden silence was unbearably oppressive. She wished that she had not agreed to stay at Lady Gilmont’s townhouse and that she were in her own room at Russell Square. It was at least a mercy that Nell had come over to the townhouse earlier with some things for Lorelei and Constance.

Forlorn and embarrassed, she contemplated waking Nell to attend to her after all, before deciding that that would be selfish.

Her heart pounded furiously and she fought the definite urge to cry. Lorelei did not often cry and it felt particularly ridiculous now. What had she to cry over? What had she expected, exactly? That he would live up to his reputation and ravish her? Utter nonsense.

She knew that, if anything, she ought to be grateful that she had escaped such a fate. Only, she didn’t feel grateful. She felt sad, rejected and angry. Lorelei focused on the anger. Miss Fallon would have soundly berated her for such an unladylike sentiment, but Lorelei thrilled in it.

Winbourne had certainly played his game to a close: obviously he was an utter scoundrel. He had been toying with her all along. If he thought her inferior to his painted mistress, whoever she may be, than Lorelei would not dignify him with another minute of her attention.

She swept majestically out of the room, still furious and refusing to let herself cry a single tear over the man. She could not stop him from dwelling on his past, and if that was who he was, she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Miss Lorelei?” Nell, who had insisted that it was her duty to tend the young woman, was waiting for her in her room, with a warm nightgown. “Are you quite well?”

Lorelei was flooded with joy at seeing the familiar, friendly face. It was as though, for  a moment, she was a child again, all her problems belonging to someone else.

“Oh. Hello, Nell. Yes, perfectly well, thank you.” Realising that she may have spoken a little too fervently to be convincing, she forced herself to calm her voice. “It is only that I feel fatigued and so I cried off to go home early. I think I would like to go to bed now.”

Nell did not appear entirely convinced, but she obliged by helping Lorelei brush out her golden hair and
change into her beautiful nightgown. She then offered to bring the lady something to help her sleep, but Lorelei politely refused the offer.

“I only need to rest, I shall be perfectly all right presently. Thank you, Nell. Go to bed now.”

“Good night, miss.” With a brief curtsy, Nell was gone.

Lorelei slowly made her way to her bed, her anger fallen in ashes around her, as she heaved a sad sigh. She did not know how she had ended up in such a mess. She had certainly never intended it, for what foolish girl would allow herself to fall in love with the Earl of Winbourne, known for his many lovers and icy heart?

He was completely unable to love anyone at all. She knew that. While she had thought that she’d seen something greater in his eyes, it was obviously nothing more than the imaginings of a fanciful girl. For there was suddenly no denying it: she loved him, and had she had her wish, then she would have had his love, though it were only given her for one night.

She was about to blow out her candle when she heard a creak in the corridor outside. Floorboards. It was nothing unusual – houses all had their sounds, after all. But something made her rise out of bed and pull her dressing gown decorously around her
thin nightgown as she moved quietly across the room.

Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her ears as she slowly opened the door.

He was there, still wearing his cloak and an unmistakable look in his eyes.

There was no need for words.

Lorelei didn’t know what caused her then to draw him into the room. Some madness, obviously: a fever of the brain. She ought to have been outraged, sent him away, called for help. Anything other than draw him in. Her feelings rose within her in an inevitable tide of love and desire, which swept her off her feet and carried her in its wake.

All the while they had not said a word, her wide eyes focused on his face, his mouth slightly open. His sensual lips were curled into a slight smile, which was as charming as it was rakish.

“In the name of candour, Miss Lindon, I ought to tell you that I would like nothing more than to kiss you.”

Something flared within her at those words: something she could not quite suppress. “This is a most improper conversation,” Lorelei whispered.

She did her best to fight the fatal inevitability she read in his eyes.

“Yes, it certainly is,” Winbourne agreed, unruffled. “This is a most improper location. But I find I must ask again, d
id you enjoy yourself tonight, Miss Lindon?” His eyes were trained on her face. “It seemed to me that you gave every sign of enjoyment, especially in the company of Mr Hunter. Tell me, is he one of your swains now, Miss Lindon?”

It took her a moment to parse what he had said, for her brain had turned to jelly at his talk of kisses.

“Mr Hunter? The suitor of my friend? Do you mean to cast aspersions on my character, sir?’ she asked dangerously. “And was it not you who suggested I entertain the notion of naïve suitors who may have honourable intentions towards me?”

“Did I? I take back my words in that direction. You may
not
entertain any such notions.” They stood so close now that she could feel the warmth of him through her thin garments.

“You are perfectly abominable! I don’t see why you think you may speak to me so, my lord, but allow me to disabuse you of this belief! I may flirt with gentlemen just as I please and you have no right at all to forbid me. You are not my father, brother or husband, and you have no claim!”

“Oh, don’t I?” With those words he swept her into his arms, and though she tried to protest, he pressed his lips to hers in the most searing of kisses. She had neither thoughts nor words left, as she languorously surrendered to his kiss.

That he should take such a liberty was utterly unthinkable. She let her trembling form melt against this strong firm chest. When the kiss ended, she could feel his heart pounding against hers.

Lorelei knew, perhaps had always known, that despite the cool veneer Winbourne usually adopted, he was a man in possession of a strong passionate nature. She had never been certain whether this was a blessing or a curse. She shifted uneasily.

“You are here to seduce me.”

One look at Lord Winbourne set Lorelei’s blood on fire.

Alistair Tilbury, the Earl of Winbourne, was known about town as a shamelessly adept seducer.

“Is that so?” Winbourne murmured close to her ear, casually circling her in a way that made Lorelei’s stomach clench and her blood run at once hot and cold. “Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we, Miss Lindon?” The caress with which he said her name was nearly the end of her.

He turned the key in the lock before pulling her back into his arms. Or perhaps it was she who pulled him near. His unbridled virility defied the pathetic defence she had tried to build up around her own passion and she plummeted into the abyss of desire.

Winbourne’s hands brazenly explored her soft form, even as his kiss intensified, and Lorelei found herself leaning into the sinful touch with a moan which didn’t sound like it could possibly have come from her. His hot mouth travelled the length of her slender throat and he pushed the dressing gown off her shoulders so that she stood before him in just her nightgown.

It was as though Lorelei were possessed. Her hands feverishly untied his cloak and let it fall in a dark pool at their feet. A tingling warmth spread though her entire body and his fine coat soon followed the cloak. Her hands were clumsy and she failed dismally in dismantling his cravat. Winbourne chuckled in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, and quickly removed the offending article. Lorelei’s whole body thrummed with passion as she watched his elegant hands, so quick and efficient.

Lorelei was suddenly desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. It was like a treasure she had only just discovered. A moment later, she realised what she’d done as his mouth hotly descended one pale high breast, peeking through the delicate fabric of the nightgown.

She knew she ought to feel
ashamed, afraid or both! Only, somehow she did not. At the back of her mind, Lorelei registered that there was a reason she ought to stop and demand that he leave. That to continue with this delicious madness would result in utter ruin. And yet she found that she could not resist, that she cared only for his touch, which was bringing her skin to life in a way that she had never felt before. It should not have been possible to feel so alive and enflamed. Lorelei knew only that she never wanted him to stop.

“You are a vision of loveliness,” he whispered as his eyes raked over her slender form, outlined against the fire that lit the bedroom in oranges and reds. The flimsy nightgown only served to ignite his passion as he felt himself harden with the urge to claim her as his own. In all his vast acquaintance with women, no other had ever made him feel this heady, as though he had no control over the passion that swept through him: as though this moment had been inevitable from the first.

There was something unbearably intimate in his untied cravat. It twisted Lorelei’s heart in her chest. Then the cravat was on the floor and he enfolded her in his embrace, at once both ardent and tender. Winbourne’s hands danced over her unbound hair, her back, her tender bosom and her collar bones, as his mouth captured hers, harsh and overwhelmingly pleasing.

Lorelei felt an unexpected stab of bashfulness when he removed his shirt and boots. He hesitated a moment, then, reading the invitation in her hungry eyes, he removed her nightgown. The enigmatic earl advanced upon her, his expression one of utter intensity, his eyes devouring.

Lorelei could not look away from his gaze as she waited for his approach and whatever as-yet unknown delights awaited her in his embrace. He drank in her pale beauty a moment, before sweeping her off her feet just as her knees grew weak from his fervent admiration. Whatever women may have fallen from grace before her, Lorelei decided that she would merrily follow in their footsteps for just a moment in his arms.

This situation was so far removed from anything she knew, that it was best to throw herself in and let the moment take her where it would.  Boldly, she let her hand travel down his lightly-muscled chest, uncertain yet what she might find. He gasped, eyes closing in bliss, and then laid her gently on the soft bed.

“My siren,” he whispered huskily, his voice sweeping away any doubt that might remain. As his bold hand trailed scandalously down her body, making her gasp with pleasure hitherto unknown, Lorelei decided that she would not think about tomorrow – tonight was a separate world which existed just for them.

Lorelei woke to find herself alone in a warm bed in Lady Gilmont’s townhouse. She stretched and flushed a little at the memory of the previous night. Her nightgown had been laid out at the foot of the bed, and it was still early enough out that the light filtering into the room was an unbearable murky grey.
This did nothing to ruin her mood: she felt happy, giddy, almost, her muscles sore in a way that had to be utterly decadent. It took a moment for her situation to register.

Then, she realised she was alone.

She was
alone
. Doubt sank her heart like a stone and her head spun a little. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected, but Winbourne was gone entirely, no trace of him left in the room, as though he had never been there at all. It was probably for the best: there would be a scandal. Hastily, shakily, she sat up and pulled her nightgown back on. It was a blessing that Nell knew not to wake her so early.

Reality left Lorelei feeling inexplicably lost. Winbourne had gone away while she had slept and she realised that she was ruined. The ‘tomorrow’ she had vowed to forget the previous night had arrived unbidden and left her utterly devastated. Had she really expected that he would stay, perhaps that he would even ask for her hand? And yet, why would he wish to, now that she had shown herself to possess such poor moral fibre?

Horrified, Lorelei wondered if he would completely throw her off, or, worse, return and offer her
carte-blanche
, as though she would ever accept such a dreadful arrangement. She did not think she could face him ever again, no matter how much she valued her courage. After all, there were times when all the courage in the world could not stave off her disgrace.

There was a note
next to her nightgown. It was brief and left her even colder, if such a thing were possible.
I must leave you. It is most urgent. We will speak when I return.
She shivered. Cryptic and impersonal – it left her in no doubt that, whatever the conversation, it was not one she wished to have.

She was ruined. Irrevocably and completely. What man would want her to wife now? She could not disgrace her family so – she could not bear to see the disappointment on her father’s face. His
elder daughter, a common harlot! A fallen woman! Lorelei knew she had no choice: she had to leave town.

Lorelei shuddered at the future that was left open to her. She could not become a governess, because she was sure to be recognised and sent back to her father. She had to fade into obscurity somehow: her ruin must remain forever unknown to the rest of world.

Was she to go to Brighton, then, and become another light o’ love frequenting the resort’s dingy taverns? No. Surely there was another way.

But what could she do?  Lorelei sank back onto the bed and forced her dizzy mind to still. She had to think of something. She wondered if it would be noticeable to all that she had been ruined: had ruined
herself
. No one had forced her hand in the matter. In fact, she had thoroughly enjoyed herself, if she were truly honest.

  It was a mercy that she had not told him of her love. At least that little shred of dignity would remain forever her own. Forever, because she knew that the love she felt for the man, reprobate though he was, was an eternal force, a secret she would take with her to her grave.

She sat very still for a long time, deciding what she should do and how, until Nell came to help her dress. If the abigail thought Lorelei somewhat preoccupied, she made no comment and she did not seem to find anything out of the ordinary. It was strange, Lorelei reflected, that she could not seem to cry.

The rest of the day was a blur. She met her sister, Julia and Eloise in the front parlour. (Lorelei was very thankful it was not the library – she did not think she’d ever be able to bear that room again.) There, they had a perfectly mundane breakfast, and perfectly mundane conversation. Somehow, this only set Lorelei more on edge.

“It is a shame that you did not come to supper with us after Astley’s, Lorelei. It was wonderful fun, and the meal splendid,” Constance enthused, not the least bit sleepy after her late night.

Lady Gilmont fixed Lorelei with a scrutinising look. “I hope my brother was gracious when he escorted you here last night?”

At that, Lorelei started and flushed. “Oh yes. We may have bickered again, but he was very civil otherwise.”

Eloise laughed. “Yes, he can certainly be that! I would tell you not to mind him, my dear, but it seems to me that you need no advice on that head. There is much more to
Alastair than one tends to be allowed to see. I’ve always thought his secrecy and isolation a great shame.”

Such strange words.
 Lorelei gulped a breath and tried to blunt the sharp edge of heartbreak while the world crumpled around her. She’d never felt so alone, never had a secret she could not confide in her sister. She forced herself to smile and incline her head in noncommittal agreement and then promptly changed the subject.

The Lindon sisters remained at the Gilmont townhouse until after breakfast, when they returned to Russell Square. Here, they had to recount the night to Lady Hurst, who had only sat down to her own breakfast. Fortunately, Constance was full of such excited glee that Lorelei could not have got many words in had she tried.

By then, Lorelei has quite decided on her course of action. This fact was of very little comfort as she looked into the dear faces around her, however.

Lady Hurst had informed the girls that she was to entertain an old friend for dinner later that afternoon, a lady who had come to London for a brief stay. It was fortunate that she was too preoccupied in making arrangements for the unexpected visit to pay close attention to her charges, else Lorelei was certain she would have been found out.

The young woman had other things to occupy her mind however, and hardly gave the question of guests and suitable dinners any thought. Constance, well attuned to her sister’s inexplicable sadness, made her go out and take Sirius with them, the dog barking happily and racing around the green. This time, the walk was without incident. Lorelei watched the dog’s simple enjoyment of the park and wondered if she would ever again know joy.

“You are out of sorts today, Lorelei,” Con observed, worry in her voice. “Something has happened to upset you. What is the matter? Was your quarrel with Lord Winbourne so very bad?”

Lorelei felt a shiver at the mention of his name. She did her best to look nonchalant. “Oh, no, dear goose, it’s nothing like that! You do worry so. I am merely tired after the headache I had last night. I shall be right as rain in no time.”

She made an effort to appear more cheerful for the remainder of their walk. When it was time to dress for dinner, Constance departed to get ready, still giving Lorelei curious looks.

This is ridiculous: I am being absurd
, Lorelei berated herself. She was furious and heartbroken by halves, as she had every right to be, but somehow she found that she already missed Winbourne. Was it the beginning of the same kind of madness that had destroyed Lady Caroline Lamb, Lord Byron’s scandalously forsaken paramour?

She could only hope that it was not.

*

Lorelei was perfectly charming at dinner, talking merrily with her sister, Lady Hurst and the widowed Mrs Mulligan, who had arrived in a great old-fashioned carriage and was accompanied by two spaniels. Lorelei did her best to be witty and amusing as she told of the fine time she had had on the
ton
, and asked Mrs Mulligan polite questions about the lady’s spaniels and her living in Northamptonshire.

Throughout the meal, Lorelei acutely felt her desperation, the sick sorrow of her burning heart and her disgrace bubbling just under the surface, straining to get out, and it gave her a strange, unprecedented energy. She could not eat a bite, and so she distracted her company with an engaging m
anner that would have done any Society hostess proud.

She felt frantic, certain that if she were to lose control for even a moment, she would fall apart, right then and there, and no one would be able to put her back to rights again. Her heart broke further with the guilt of what she absolutely had to do. Would she never know peace again?

She put on such a grand performance that when Lady Hurst and Mrs Mulligan retired to have tea and biscuits in the parlour and the young ladies excused themselves, Mrs Mulligan had nothing but the highest praise for Lorelei, certain that she must have taken uncommonly well in Society. By the end of the Season, Mrs Mulligan confidently assured her friend, Lady Hurst would be beating away gentleman-callers with a stick.

*

The next morning, Lorelei rose early, sure that she could not possibly remain in London a moment longer, for discovery and scandal were inevitable. Such things could not stay hidden indefinitely. The dreaded country seemed the best solution. She would flee back to Ledley and take cover there. Once at the family seat, Lorelei would think of what she could do next.

She wanted more than anything to remain at Russell Square, but that was impossible. It was only a matter of time before her disgrace became known about town – and then she would cause pain and shame to those same people she cherished. It simply would not do to answer to despair now.

She felt guilty at leaving and even worse at the prospect of staying put. Lady Hurst had been so kind – like a mother, really, and Lorelei dreaded that her friend should think her ungrateful enough to vanish in the night.

She would have to go to
The George
in Westminster, to catch a coach travelling in the direction of Little Paddlington. There were bound to be more respectable coach houses perhaps, but she had no time to locate them, nor any subtle way of making such an enquiry. If she did not go now, she doubted she would muster up the determination again.

Lorelei packed as quickly as she could so that Nell would not come in and discover her impending departure.
 She picked up a spare gown and shawl, a petticoat and warm stockings, and threw those into a small carpet bag.

She had no time to be more meticulous and her beautiful London gowns would be much too fine for the country life she would now embrace. She would devote herself to obscurity
, fade from Society like so many had done before her.

The general would not pre
ssure her into going back into Society if he saw how much the notion distressed her, and by then she was sure she’d have come up with a suitable explanation for her exile. Everything would be better once she was at home and thinking clearly. It was impossible to be reasonable while she remained in London.

As she worked, Lorelei furiously pushed any thoughts of Lord Winbourne out of her mind. His departure had made plain how things stood between them – and what he must think of her now she could not begin to imagine.

The thought of never setting eyes on him again hurt more than all the rest of her woes. She was deeply wounded by his careless dismissal, and she despaired at the thought of what might have been between them, if the world were less cruel. If
he
were less cruel, and
she
less foolish, they might have had a chance at happiness. These thoughts of an impossible world were nearly crippling in the degree of pain which they caused her, and yet Lord Winbourne’s enigmatic eyes continued to haunt her.

She supposed that they always would – Lorelei had no illusion that such a wound as this would ever heal. No: the trouble with love, hopeless and unreciprocated though it was, was that it would live on forever, smarting and lingering, and surviving, no matter the long cold years she would live without setting eyes on the earl.

It was of no comfort to know that there were women who had been ruined over a less noble thing than love, because what did reasons matter when her heart was to remain forever shattered?

The problem of escaping the house unnoticed had quite tasked Lorelei’s ingenuity. She wished fervently that she were cleverer or luckier, or both. All the while, sorrow hung over her, momentarily eclipsed by more immediate problems, but still there. Always there.

She had considered borrowing Lady Hurst’s brougham and driving herself to Ledley, but she could never request the vehicle to be brought out without arousing some curiosity among the servants. There was also the danger of losing a wheel on the uneven country road without a groom to assist her.

She was momentarily frozen by the memory of Winbourne’s easy skill at the reins – watching his strong elegant hands carelessly guide the horses. She did not think she could bear to have the spectre of memory sit beside her all the way to Ledley – the absence of him was particularly devastating under such circumstances.

It was a unique kind of agony to dwell on what was and what could never be, and know that her heart would forever live encased in the memory of him. She thought of the passion burning in Winbourne’s expressive eyes and of the touch of his hands, which had been like fire on her skin.

There would never be another love for her, nor any hope of love, even though he had discarded her so callously in the end. If only she could match his indifference with her own. She had, after all, known him to be a shameless, unapologetic rake from the first. She had been warned.