Hope's Betrayal (19 page)

"What are
you doing?" He snapped, his self-composure in shreds.

"You may
not want my help, but you could certainly benefit from some civilised
company."

"I'd be
perfectly alright, if people didn’t interfere."

"Well, you
don’t look alright. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you are being uncommonly
stubborn and need taking in hand."

"And you're
the woman to do it, I suppose?"

"I was
passing and heard a crash. I was concerned." She explained, as if talking
to a child. "And you are being unspeakably rude."

"Then don’t
treat me like an idiot." He couldn’t let her care, he couldn’t take that
risk. His heart thudded against his ribs.

"Then don’t
treat me like one either." Hope gave a long sigh. "In fact, I'm glad
of this opportunity to speak with you."

"Oh?"
His heart raced, with Hope so close he had to suppress a shiver of longing as
he ached to trace the dome of her breast with his tongue.

"It
concerns my position here at The Grange."

Watching those
plump lips his imagination ran away with him. The boundaries between dreaming
and waking began to blur as memories of her velvet skin warmed his body.

"Go
on." He murmured, leaning closer.

"Now you
are so much stronger, I think it right that I go. As soon as circumstances
allow, I intend to leave Lady Ryevale’s employ."

Huntley felt as
if he’d been slapped.

“But why? Has
Mother not treated you well?”

Miss Tyler looked
him straight in the eye. “Like a daughter.”

"Then
why?" Emptiness yawned ahead of him.

"Now I know
you are going to be alright, I can’t stay. Not now."

He tried to
laugh it off. "Look, I apologise for swearing at you. It was pain
speaking."

 "That's
not what I meant. I can’t stay, not after your injury."

"What's
that got to do with anything?"

She took a deep
breath. "Smugglers nearly killed you."

"So? It
wasn’t you that shot me."

"No, but
you will come to blame me nonetheless."

Huntley
guffawed. "Stuff and nonsense. Why on earth would you say that?"

"Because I
was a smuggler. Because of me you were reposted—and don’t think that I hadn’t
noticed you can't bear my company. You either avoid me or bark at me. I can’t
stay. Not like this."

Huntley sat immobile,
his mind frozen. The truth was he loved Hope Tyler, and yet he could not tell
her. If he confessed his love she would love him in return, and then he must
break her heart. Best to deny everything. He spoke coldly, ignoring the nagging
void in his soul.

"After
everything Lady Constance has done for you. How can you be so ungrateful? She
needs you."

Hope  recoiled.

"I suggest
you employ a secretary to ease the burden of the estate work. I don’t wish to
appear ungrateful, but I cannot remain, not like this." She withdrew. The
place on his arm where her fingers had rested was left empty and wanting, just
like his heart. "I am sorry. Truly. And I hope one day you may think well
of me."

As she made to
rise, panic gripped his craw.

"Stay!"

"I'll send
your valet to help you up."

"No, I
don’t mean that…I mean, stay, here at The Grange. Please don’t go."

She shrugged.
"Why?"

Desperate, he
searched for the right words while avoiding the truth.

 "Because
I'm asking as a personal favor.” And because of the deep yearning inside, the
knowledge that he wanted to see her every day, that she was as necessary to him
as salt to seawater.

 "If,"
he shuddered, "if I am unable to return to active service," there, he
had said it, "then what will get me through each day but your smile?"

He didn’t blanch
under the scrutiny of her stare. "Forgive me," he said simply,
"I barely know my own mind, but what I do know is that I want…. need…you
to stay."

The effort of
confession exhausted him. Leaning his head back against the desk he stared at
the ceiling. Hope didn’t seem to be laughing, so he hadn’t made a total idiot
of himself. Her stillness made him suspicious and he glanced across. Their eyes
met—mesmerised, he was drowning in their opaline depths.

"I need you
Hope Tyler."

"All you
had to do was say." She whispered. "I thought you didn’t care."
Her chin trembled and slowly, oh so slowly, she leaned toward him. The movement
once started could not be stopped and their lips touched. Heat rose from her
skin, intoxicating with the aura of outdoors and he thirsted for more. Cupping
her face, her eyes changed from green to black as his lips closed in on her
lips. All fight gone, drawn from him by her softness, he placed his trust in
her as he kissed her—the shock of her touch addictive and he craved more.

With his
movement restricted, Hope pressed closer, relaxing into his embrace. He stroked
her hair, marveling at its glossy softness. She was a wonder, with her perfect
skin and gentle curves. She consumed all his senses and pain ebbed away as they
kissed again, deeper and with more urgency. His heart thundered with a
possessive emotion other than lust

"Please,"
she murmured against his chest, "I could not bear it if you hate me
because of what the smugglers did. Tell me now if you do…and I will go."

"No,
nothing could be further from the truth. I...I…" Shocked, Huntley bit his
tongue. He froze—to consider this alien emotion. Was it love or lust? Yes, he
wanted her in his bed, but did he love her? The thought was sobering and with a
groan he pushed her away. 

Her hurt
expression was more unbearable than being shot. But he armored himself lest he
forget...life was complicated enough…without seducing his mother's companion,
who also happened to be a smuggler. The pounding quieted in his ears, as with
supreme effort he resumed a hardened expression.

“Don’t mistake
my intentions. That was just a kiss. I want you to stay…for Mother’s’s sake.”

Her lip
quivered. “And for that reason only?”

Huntley looked
away. “What I did…just now...won’t happen again.”

Hope nodded
gravely, dusted down her skirts and knelt. “It most assuredly won’t.”

“But, you will
stay…for Mother’s’s sake?”  His words had come out as a command, as if she was
one of his ratings…that had not been his intention, he’d meant to ask her
humbly, with respect as she deserved.

He saw
indecision on her face. Damn, he’d made thing a thousand times worse.

“If…if…I decide
to stay, you behavior must change.”

Heat washed up
his neck.

 “There can be
no more stolen kisses….they are too…confusing”

“Absolutely.  No
more liberties.”

“And I won’t be
barked at like a dog...I deserve some consideration.”

“My thoughts
entirely.”

Bone-aching,
heart-wrenching silence hung between them as he waited on her decision.

“Very well
then…I agree to stay...for now. But I suggest we avoid one another.”

Huntley's
triumph was short-lived. Healing his bones was nothing, compared to protecting
his heart. Just what had he done?

Clouds blocked
out the sun and with so little warmth, the crops had grown poorly and
predictions of a poor harvest came true. At The Grange, Hope was thankful for
the money she sent home, praying her father would have the foresight to put
some by for a hard winter. But that aside, Hope was too busy to worry for long.
Captain Huntley's brothers had arrived two weeks earlier, having fled an
unseasonal London fog. Their visit cheered George, and every day he seemed to
grow stronger and was now able to hobble around, albeit slowly, with the aid of
a crutch.

After that afternoon
two months ago, Hope and the Captain had not been alone together. In company he
treated her with respect, but always a remoteness, a degree of reserve which
hurt deeply. She had only to hear his voice and a void opened, and she
chastised her foolish imagination, telling herself again and again it was a
mistake to believe he had feelings for her.

Weeks of correct
and polite behavior passed between them, and still his clear blue eyes had the
power to leave her breathless, something she feared was all too obvious to his
brothers. Which was why, as she hurried along the corridor with Lady Ryevale's
shawl, she was dreading the next five minutes. Pausing outside the drawing
room, she braced herself, listening to a volley of raucous laughter on the other
side of the door.

First she picked
out Charles' melodic drawl, and in answer, Jack's assured tone, and then
finally the Captain with that deep, commanding voice which made her hollow
inside. Hope swallowed. The trouble was, the Huntley men missed nothing, and
she was finding it increasingly difficult to act normally around George. She
glanced around, hoping a maid might be passing to whom she could give Her
Ladyship’s shawl. But the corridor remained empty and so, squaring her
shoulders, Hope opened the door.

The barrage of
masculinity hit her like a wall. Each brother was breathtaking in his own way,
but it was only George who befuddled her senses. All three were tall,
well-built men and strikingly handsome, who filled the parlor with their energy
and high spirits.

Tentatively,
trying not to attract attention, she slipped inside. It was like stepping into
a lion's den when she was supper. First there was Charles, lounging in that
dissolute way with his long limbs thrown over the chair arm as if posing for a
picture. Then Jack with his dark hair and strong jaw, so similar in looks to
George and yet more urbane and polished. And then George, listless as a caged
animal…

Hope clutched
the shawl to her chest and made for Her Ladyship. George saw her first and,
reaching for his crutch, made to stand.

“No, please
don’t get up, not on my account.” She said, touched by his gallantry.

The remaining
two Huntley males stared simultaneously. With uncharacteristic shyness, Hope
hurried to Her Ladyship’s side.

"Thank you,
dear." Lady Ryevale placed the shawl over her shoulders. "Why, only
just now Eulogy was saying what a help you are."

"Miss
Tyler, I do hope you don’t think I was gossiping, merely reflecting on how
invaluable you are." Eulogy, Jack Huntley's wife, smiled trying to put her
at ease. But Hope felt dowdy beside Eulogy's natural beauty, with her glossy
chestnut hair, sweetheart face and large brown eyes. No wonder Jack seemed
utterly smitten as he placed a solicitous arm around his wife's shoulders.

"My dear,
you look tired. Perhaps you should rest, this week we have a long journey ahead
of us."

Eulogy rolled
her eyes and placed a hand on the gently rounded swell of her belly. “Honestly,
you don’t need to fuss so.”

"That's
what I keep saying, but no one takes the blindest bit of notice." George
interjected.

Good-natured
laughter rolled around the room.

“Lady Ryevale,
Mrs Huntley, sirs.” Hope inclined her head and made to leave.

“Oh, but do
stay, Miss Tyler, or Mrs Huntley and I will be outnumbered.”

Heart pounding,
Hope hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense, we
want you to stay, don’t we George?”

Captain Huntley
looked nonplussed. "Of course."

Hope glanced
around for a seat. Jack and Eulogy occupied one settle, Lady Ryevale was
stretched across the chaise longue, Charles in the armchair, which left George
occupying half of a settle. With a sinking sensation, Hope hesitated at the
prospect of sitting so close to him. George’s face a stiff mask, he inclined
his head.

“Don’t be
bashful, Miss Tyler, you can sit beside me, I don’t bite.”

She glared
back—a look not lost on his brothers.

 “If you need
lessons in charm, little brother, you only have to ask.” Charles fanned his
fingers, inspecting his manicured nails with fascination.

“I most
certainly do not.”

 “He’s doing
well enough as he is.” Jack winked at Eulogy, who frowned back.

“Ssssh. Let it
go.” Eulogy elbowed her husband.

Her cheeks
burning and acutely aware of the muscular bulk by her side, Miss Tyler
trembled.

“All I’m
saying,” Jack plunged on, with the good humor of a man hopelessly in love “is
once I was like him and couldn’t admit my feelings.”

"Hush,
dear, you're embarrassing your brother."

“I don’t know
what you mean.” George growled.

“I too was
blind," Jack plunged on, with the smugness of a reformed sinner "I
denied my feelings because I was scared.”