Disgrace and Desire(32)

He was holding her arm and she stood perfectly still, keeping her face averted.

‘Tony and I were happy.’ Her voice was so quiet he could hardly hear her. ‘Despite what you now know of me, we were very fond of one another. Excuse me, I must go.’

He released her and she hurried towards the door. He followed, saying, ‘And you are determined to leave for London in the morning?’

‘I am.’

‘Then first let me talk to you—let me apologise—for last night.’

‘There is nothing more to say.’

She reached for the door handle but he stepped past her, putting his hand against the door to prevent her from escaping.

‘Oh, but there is! At least let me tell you that I know now how much I had misjudged you—you were not what I thought.’

She turned to look at him, fixing him with eyes as dark and troubled as a stormy evening sky.

‘You thought me wanton, which is the impression I have been at some pains to give. I cannot blame you for that.’ She looked away. ‘We enjoyed a night together and that is all there is to it. Now I would be obliged if you would forget all about me.’ Her chin lifted: he thought he detected the faintest wobble in her voice. ‘I am sure I am not the first woman to have enjoyed your attentions for a single night. There will be no regrets, no recriminations and if we are obliged to meet in company, I hope we can do so like civilised beings. As far as I am concerned the matter is over.’

Jack stared at her. His instinct was to drag her into his arms, to melt her icy resolve with a savage kiss, but he was haunted by the memory of her distress that morning. Despite her brave words she had been a virgin when he had taken her to his bed and he was ashamed that he had not realised it. That she had not told him, that their lovemaking had been as passionate and intense as any he had ever experienced, was no excuse for his lack of control. More than that, he was confused by his feelings for her. She did not trust him, she certainly did not confide in him—it seemed now that she did not even want him, so why could he not just do as she asked and leave her to her fate?

‘My lady. Eloise—’

She closed her eyes and lifted her hand as if to defend herself.

‘Please, let me go!’

Her impassioned whisper cut him like a knife. She did not want him near her. He removed his hand from the door and stood back.

‘As you wish, madam.’





Chapter Twelve


‘My lady, are you going downstairs for dinner?’

Alice’s voice roused Eloise from her sleep. She blinked and gazed around the room. As her mind cleared she remembered with a sinking heart the events that had resulted in her spending the entire afternoon curled up on her bed.

Alice was bustling around the room, pulling clothes from the linen press and chattering all the while.

‘I made sure everyone thought you had the migraine, my lady: even fetched up a tisane for you, which I drank myself since you was asleep. Didn’t want anyone connecting your malaise with Mr Mortimer’s antics last night. Mrs Renwick sends her compliments and says that if you wish she will arrange for you to have dinner in your room, so I said I would come and find out how you are.’

Eloise sat up and rubbed her eyes.

‘No, I must put in an appearance, I think.’

Alice gave an approving nod.

‘I have brought you up some hot water. Shall I lay out your new gown for you?’

She allowed Alice to dress her in the white silk with its exquisite silver embroidery. She pulled out the diamonds Tony had given her for a wedding present and as her maid fastened the necklace she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, feeling very much as if she was putting on her armour to go into battle.





When Eloise walked into the drawing room some time later she had the impression that there was a sudden lull in the conversation, that all eyes were turned upon her. She kept her smile in place and walked towards her hostess: not even by the flicker of an eyelid would she betray her inner trepidation.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham, I am so glad you could join us: migraine can be most debilitating.’ Mrs Renwick leaned forwards and peered into her face. ‘But, my dear, you are still a little pale, are sure you are quite well?’

‘Yes, ma’am, thank you. You must not worry about me, especially when we have a much more serious invalid in the house. Is there any news of Mr Mortimer?’

‘I think Major Clifton can answer that for you,’ said Mrs Renwick, beckoning to Jack. ‘He has been most solicitous of poor Mr Mortimer and can tell us if there is any change, can you not, Major?’

Eloise berated herself for her stupidity. She should have realised that any enquiries about Alex would be directed to Major Clifton. Unable to escape, she fixed her eyes upon the floor as Jack approached. He did not look at her, but addressed himself to his hostess.

‘I called in upon Mortimer on my way downstairs, ma’am, and I am pleased to tell you that he is looking much better.’

‘So we have no need to summon Dr Bellamy?’ asked Mr Renwick, coming up.

‘Not in the least. In fact I expect to see him out of bed in a few days, once his leg has begun to heal.’

‘That is excellent news,’ declared Edward Graham. ‘Poor Mortimer, he will be sorry when he hears what a good day’s shooting he missed today. And you too, Clifton. Pity you didn’t come out with us, but I take it you’ll be able to join us tomorrow?’

‘Yes, if the weather holds.’

The conversation turned to sport and Mrs Renwick went off to greet Meg Cromer, who had just come in. Eloise moved towards the fire to warm her hands. She did not know whether to be most relieved or disappointed by the cool reception she had received from Jack, yet what did she expect, after the way she had repulsed him that morning? Her mind strayed back to their walk through the long gallery. For a short time she had been able to forget her troubles and lose herself in discussing art and the paintings on the walls. It was as if they had been old friends, until his chance remark had reminded her that she was not free to indulge in such luxury. She and Jack Clifton could never be friends. After last night he knew too much about her—for him to learn more might endanger everything she had worked so hard to conceal.

She allowed her eyes to stray towards the little group of gentlemen: Jack Clifton’s powerful figure immediately claimed her attention. His broad shoulders filled the black evening coat without the need for padding and his long legs encased in biscuit-coloured pantaloons gave him the height to stand out amongst his companions. Some called him saturnine, with his raven-black hair and hard, unsmiling features, but she had seen the kindness in his eyes, experienced the warmth of his smile and found more jovial countenances insipid by comparison.

I love him.

The revelation shocked her. She turned away quickly, afraid that someone might look into her face and discover her secret. It could never be, of course. Witness his reaction when she had revealed that she was a maid—surely he would never have reacted in such a way if he cared for her at all. If he loved her.

Aye, there was the rub: she was being foolishly romantic. Jack Clifton was a kind man, an honourable man, but he did not love her. He had told her himself that he had loved Clara Deforge and she had been a sweet, innocent young maid, a paragon of virtue compared with the disgraceful Lady Allyngham, who flirted and teased and kept all manner of secrets! Jack could never love such a woman. He wanted to help her because she was Tony’s widow. Lying on her bed that afternoon, she had relived the moment when she had told him she wanted nothing more to do with him, only in her silly, foolish, fairy-tale imagination he did not let her walk away from him. An unhappy lump settled in her throat. If only Jack had held her then, told her he would not let her go, that she was his and he would keep her no matter what happened. But he had said nothing. He had stood back and let her walk out, probably relieved to be free of her toils.

‘A penny for your thoughts, Lady Allyngham.’

Sir Ronald Deforge’s soft words brought an abrupt end to her reverie. This man had the power to ruin her, he had tried to kill her best friend, but she dare not denounce him. Instead she assumed the brittle, society manner that served her so well.

‘They are not worth even a groat, Sir Ronald.’

He leaned closer and it was all she could do not to back away.

‘I thought you might be thinking over my…proposal.’

‘That requires a great deal of consideration, sir. It is not something to be undertaken lightly.’

‘Very true, but I am not a patient man, and I want your answer.’ He took out his snuffbox and flicked it open. ‘Our hostess tells me you intend to leave us.’

‘Yes. I am going back to town.’

‘This is very sudden, is it not?’

She was silent while he took a delicate pinch of snuff.

‘I made my decision last night,’ she said at last. ‘I informed Mrs Renwick earlier today that I have business in London requiring my attention.’

His puffy, pock-marked face pushed even closer, so that she could feel his breath on her skin.

‘I hope you do not plan to run away from me, madam.’

She raised her head, her lip curling disdainfully.

‘Of course not. But I need time to think.’

‘So you are leaving your lapdog Mortimer behind you? Do you think that is wise? Will he be quite safe, do you think?’