The windows nearest her bed were open, allowing the gentle breeze inside. It would be dawn in a few hours, but for now it was cool and quiet, and so dark she could see little more than shadowy shapes in her room. She should be asleep, but her mind was too busy to relax.
It pleased her that her sisters had made an effort to be nice to Brahm, even if they did it only because she told them it was what she wanted in payment for their shoddy treatment of him since his arrival. That wasn't what had made the evening so special, though.
Brahm had singled her out. He had danced with her more times than considered proper for a mere acquaintance. He had not only announced his intentions to her, he had announced them to the entire party. He had let everyone know that he planned to have her, body and soul. He planned to have her as his wife.
As his wife. How was it possible? If he hadn't indicated so much to her himself, she wouldn't believe it. He had yet to propose, but Eleanor was certain that he meant to. Perhaps he meant to make her wait since she had refused his proposal when last it was offered. No, that was cruel and Brahm was not cruel. Perhaps he wanted to be certain she would accept before he offered. Were her kisses, her free behavior with him not enough indication that she would acquiesce?
Or maybe he treated her so very properly because he thought it was what she deserved. He had mentioned that before— that the reason he hadn't tried to seduce her years before was that she was a proper young woman. He was treating her the way a gentleman ought to treat the lady he sought to marry. What Eleanor wanted, however, was for him to treat her as a man treated the woman he wanted in his bed. She was two-and-thirty years old, she was familiar with sexual need, and she was tired of feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.
According to Fanny Carson, Brahm was very good at providing feminine satisfaction. Lucky for Eleanor, she planned to be the last woman Brahm Ryland satisfied.
Yes, she wanted his fidelity. She wanted his heart. She wasn't certain that what she felt for him was love— if it was, it had come on rather quickly. Or perhaps it had simply been slumbering these past years, waiting for the right time to resurface. Regardless of her feelings for him, she wanted Brahm to love her. What woman wouldn't want the love of such a man? His past disregarded, he was a man loyal to his friends and family. He loved fiercely and with all his being. If he put his mind to something he achieved it.
She remembered hearing about the accident that had claimed his father's life. Brahm's leg had been broken in more than one place. The physician hadn't expected him to live, but Brahm had recovered not only from the accident, but from a tremendous fever. A feat like that required a will of iron, and there was no doubt in her mind that Brahm could move mountains if he so wished.
She could sneak to his room right now if she wanted. No one would know. Would she find him asleep, or was he lying awake as she was, wishing they'd had more time in the orangery the other day? If it hadn't been for dinner, would he have made love to her there? Would she now know what it was like to join with him instead of wondering about it?
There was a soft tap upon her door, interrupting her scandalous thoughts. Who could it be at this hour? Brahm? Heart tripping in anticipation, Eleanor slipped out of bed and quietly whisked across the carpet to let her visitor in.
It wasn't Brahm. It was Lydia. She held a wrap around her shoulders with one hand, a candle in the other.
"You needn't look so disappointed, Ellie." The shorter woman brushed past her to enter the room. "You were expecting someone else?"
"It is late," Eleanor informed her, closing the door. "I was not expecting anyone." Expecting, no. Hoping, yes.
Standing in the middle of the carpet, Lydia turned to face her. Everything about her posture and expression screamed of agitation. Eleanor frowned. Lydia had never been what she considered a serene person, but she was acting a little intense, even for her.
"What is it?" Had something happened to their father? Had Lydia fought with her husband?
"There is something I need to tell you," Lydia blurted. "Something I should have told you a long time ago."
Oh dear. There was only one thing that Eleanor could think of that deserved this kind of gravity. Did she tell Lydia she already knew and risk a major blunder if bedding Brahm was not what her sister was there to confess? Or did she pretend ignorance?
Ignorance. It was better that way. What good would it do to let Lydia realize how much she had hurt Eleanor in the past? There was nothing to be done for it now, and Lydia hadn't realized that Eleanor and Brahm had made an attachment. Had she?
"Perhaps we should sit," Eleanor suggested, returning to her bed. It felt as though they were children again, both of them in their nightgowns, Lydia coming to Eleanor for guidance late at night. But they were not children anymore, and neither of them was so innocent either.
Lydia shook her head, pacing the carpet in her bare feet. "I would rather stand, thank you."
"Lyddie, you're going to wear a hole in the floor. Whatever has gotten into you?" Perhaps that was a bad choice of words given the assumed subject matter. Eleanor already knew "who" had gotten into her sister.
Lydia stopped pacing and whirled around to face her. She looked so distraught. Her body was tense, her shoulders high. Her expression was tight, and yet…and yet there was something in her eyes that made Eleanor wonder how much of this had been rehearsed. Was Lydia simply pretending this turmoil? It was such an unfair suspicion, but it would not go away.
"It is about Lord Creed," Lydia replied in a low voice.
Eleanor forced a blink. So she had been right. Why had Lydia chosen now to confess? Why had she kept her silence all these years? Perhaps she thought it for the best, given the fact that Eleanor and Brahm had parted ways. Perhaps she doubted Brahm's sincerity now and wanted to put her sister on guard.
Or perhaps Lydia was jealous and wanted to keep Eleanor from having the man Lydia wanted but hadn't managed to hold on to. As much as it had pained Eleanor to see her sister and her almost-fiancé together, it must be a real thorn in Lydia's side to see the man she had seduced return for her sister.
"What about Lord Creed?" How calm and cautious she sounded.
"Oh Eleanor!" Lydia's face became a mask of anguish as she rushed forward, falling to her knees at her sister's feet. "I am so sorry!"
Eleanor's brows rose as her mouth narrowed to a tiny O. This was not what she had been expecting. This was over-doing it, even for Lydia. Either the girl truly was devastated about this, or she belonged in a farce.
Gingerly she patted Lydia on the head. "Sorry for what, dearest?" No matter how strange this situation was, Eleanor planned to see it through. Perhaps it was cruel of her, but she had waited more than a decade for Lydia's confession, and she planned to have it.
Lydia lifted her chin, her face a contortion of pain. "You have to believe me that at the time I did not know that he had proposed."
"What time? What happened?" Oh, she was going to burn in hell for this.
Lydia shook her head, averting her gaze. "You will hate me."
"I could never hate you." That was a lie. She could hate her, but it wouldn't last. Lydia was her sister; Eleanor would love her no matter what.
"You must understand. I was very unhappy in my marriage at the time."
And she wasn't now? Eleanor kept the question to herself.
"Brahm was very attentive, very charming."
Eleanor nodded, not liking where this was going. "You do not need to explain yourself, Lydia. What happened?"
"I'm only telling you this so you will know what kind of man he is."
Oh, she already had a pretty good idea. "Go on."
Her sister's face crumpled as she choked on a sob. "Oh Eleanor, he seduced me!"
Eleanor looked away from the girl sobbing in her lap. She stroked Lydia's hair as she gazed out the window. How difficult this was. Lydia seemed so sincere, and yet there was just enough falseness to her disclosure that Eleanor doubted the validity of her words. Perhaps Lydia was sorry. Perhaps she did think of herself as the victim, but it wasn't as bad as she tried to make it sound. What was Lydia's motive?
Suddenly an idea occurred to Eleanor. It wasn't a nice idea, but it wasn't going to hurt anyone either, and if this was a ploy on Lydia's part, it would let her younger sister know that Eleanor wasn't going to fall for it. Even if Brahm did seduce her, Eleanor had seen enough to know Lydia liked it.
Perhaps Lydia just didn't want to look bad in Eleanor's eyes. Perhaps she was scared that Eleanor would be angry with her. If Eleanor was angry, it was because Lydia did not respect her more.
She shhed Lydia's sobs. "Dearest, do not distress yourself. I know what happened."
Lydia's head jerked up. Her eyes were red but there were no tears on her face. "You do?"
Eleanor nodded, fixing what she knew to be her best motherly, nurturing smile on her face. "Brahm told me."
Lydia straightened, all traces of guilt gone from her expression. "He did?"
Another nod. Eleanor bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing. How horrible she was! She should not be enjoying Lydia's confusion, but she was. Oh, how she was!
She ran a gentle hand over Lydia's pale hair. "He confessed all shortly after we began to become friends again. I knew he had been with someone; that's why I refused him years ago. He didn't want it to continue to be an issue between us, so he confessed the truth to me. It is awful what drink will do to a man, is it not?"
Lydia was on her feet. "Drink?"
Oh-oh. Perhaps she had taken this a bit too far, but there was no going back now. Eleanor tilted her head in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner. "He told me he was very drunk that night and was not in his right mind. Of course, he was often drunk back then. I know it is of small consolation, dearest, but believe me when I tell you that Brahm never would have done what he did had he been in possession of all his senses."
Lydia looked dazed, as though someone had slapped her with no warning. Eleanor's heart twisted with something very much like guilt, but she pushed it aside. If Lydia was sincere, then her explanation would make her feel better and help her forgive Brahm. If she was lying, then she would know that Eleanor believed Brahm's side of the story.
Did she believe Brahm over her sister? Yes. God help her, but she did. And she did not know if she was right to do so.
Eleanor rose to her feet. "It means so much to me that you found the courage to confess this to me, but you may ease your mind now. It is in the past where it belongs. If you need to make peace with someone, let it be with Brahm."
There was no mistaking the anger in Lydia's gaze as she whipped her head up to stare at Eleanor. So intense was the emotion that Eleanor took a step back from it. It was gone in an instant, however, and Lydia looked once more the sorrowful lady.
"You are right. Thank you, Eleanor. I feel much better now."
Placing an arm around her shoulders, Eleanor led her sister to the door. "I'm glad. Now go back to bed and do not trouble yourself with this again, all right?"
The last thing Eleanor saw before she closed the door was Lydia's nod. Shaking her head, she padded to her bed and fell on it with a gusty sigh. She didn't know what to think, what to believe. Her mind was in such turmoil. In fact, the only part of her that seemed perfectly at ease was her heart.
And her heart told her not to believe in her sister, but to believe in the man who had once broken it.
Chapter 10
T
he morning after the ball Brahm rose and dressed for breakfast feeling happier than he had for some time. He went downstairs smiling and freshly shaven, dressed in buff trousers and dark blue coat. His leg ached a bit from last night's dancing, but he barely noticed. It was an overcast morning, but it was beautiful regardless.
There weren't many up and about as he entered the dining room. Many guests would no doubt sleep into the afternoon, as the dancing had gone on until nearly five. It was half past eleven now.
Birch was present— he shot Brahm a look that could be only described as one of resigned rivalry, as though he knew Brahm was going to win, but he had to compete against him anyway.
Arabella and her husband, Henry, were at the table as well, dining on a delicious-smelling breakfast of coddled eggs, ham, sausages, bread, and coffee. Brahm's stomach growled.
After bidding his three companions a good morning, Brahm went to the sideboard and loaded a plate for himself. There were even kippers. He added three to the side of his plate.
"Coffee, Creed?" Henry asked when he was seated.
Brahm nodded. "Please." Even the coffee smelled more delicious than usual. He was enjoying his second cup, having cleaned his plate, when Eleanor entered the room. The second Brahm's gaze fell upon her, his good mood faded.
