happy for you, Ellie," she whispered. "Honestly."
Eleanor's smile was tight with unexpected tears. "Thank you."
Arabella moved on to Brahm. "Eleanor deserves the best of everything. I expect you to see she gets just that."
Eleanor's eyes widened at Arabella's protective demeanor. Eleanor was the one who always played mother to her siblings, protecting them as best she could. When they sought to protect her, it was always a surprise. It was doubly odd to see gentle Belle practically threaten a man such as Brahm.
To his credit, her betrothed smiled warmly at his future sister-in-law. "I will do my best to ensure just that."
That seemed to appease Arabella, who gave him a quick hug and returned to her chair.
Muriel and Phoebe were next, following Arabella as they always did. Lydia was last.
She was stiff as Eleanor returned her hug. "I am so very happy for you, Ellie."
Eleanor fought a frown. Her sister's words sounded sincere, but everything else about her demeanor rang false. Her embrace was cold, her smile just a touch too bright to be true, and in no way reaching her eyes. It filled Eleanor's heart with cold dread. Their relationship would be forever changed by this. Whatever Lydia's reasons, she would never forgive Eleanor for accepting Brahm's proposal, she was that set against him.
When Lydia moved on to Brahm, her entire countenance changed. A strange, predatory gleam entered her eyes, but it wasn't sexual. It was almost as though she despised him, as if he had done her some great wrong, and she wanted to make him pay for it.
"How lovely it will be to have you in our family, Lord Creed." Her voice was a purr. Eleanor suppressed a shudder at the low, throaty tone. This was an unfamiliar side of Lydia, and she didn't like it at all. Fortunately no one else in the family could see her face. To them she no doubt sounded warm and sisterly, but Eleanor knew better.
Brahm, however, seemed unaffected by such open hostility and sensuality. He bowed over Lydia's hand— she was the only one not to offer him an embrace— and smiled. Only his eyes held a degree of wariness. "Thank you. I look forward to calling you my sister."
Lydia's jaw tightened at his words. Obviously the last thing she wanted was to be Brahm's "sister."
What then, Eleanor wondered, an invisible band cinching around her chest, did her sister want?
* * *
The afternoon's riding was canceled due to rain, and so the gentlemen were forced to find other ways to amuse themselves. Some played billiards, others played cards or talked near the fire over a glass of port in the games room. Still others played chess or chatted with some of the ladies in the drawing room.
Brahm sat at one end of the room, enjoying a cup of coffee with the other bachelors. Eleanor was at the other end, working on some kind of needlework with Arabella and two other ladies.
"How goes the pursuit of Lady Eleanor, Creed old man?" It was Lord Merrott who asked, joining the group with a drink decidedly stronger than coffee, unless Brahm's nose deceived him.
The other single men watched him with open interest, waiting like vultures for his answer. Idiots. He was tempted to tell them all to go home now, Eleanor was his.
He shrugged. "It goes."
The sixth bachelor, a man named Stevenson, snorted. "She favors you above the rest of us. You would think at her age she wouldn't be so quick to narrow her chances."
"Perhaps she is simply demonstrating her good taste," Brahm replied with a smile.
"Good taste!" Locke sneered. "She's a frigging ice queen. Burrough is trying to sell her off like a mare for stud, but none of us can get close enough to mount her."
Birch replied before Brahm could, "She's a
lady
, Locke, not one of your doxies."
Locke shrugged. "They are all doxies underneath. Lady Eleanor is no different. She just thinks to entice us by playing the demure miss. Five minutes alone with her is all I need to prove otherwise."
The end of Brahm's cane came up, pinning Locke to the back of the sofa by his throat. One good push and he could make certain Locke never spoke again. "Touch her and no one will ever find your remains."
Locke stared at him in wide-eyed terror. His nod was the slightest movement, so afraid was he of what Brahm might do to him. Of course Locke, like everyone else, had heard the rumors about Brahm's involvement with Harker's death. Locke knew Brahm had no compunction when it came to killing for someone he cared for.
It was Birch who intervened. Everyone else seemed content to watch the goings-on. Fortunately for Brahm, none of the other guests seemed to notice the altercation at all, so involved were they in their own activities.
"It is all right, Creed. Locke was just being an ass as usual. He would never harm Lady Eleanor."
"Quite right," Locke croaked. "Never."
Slowly, Brahm withdrew his cane. Perhaps Locke had simply been talking out his arse, but Brahm would not tolerate such talk about Eleanor. The idea of any other man touching her, let alone in such a vulgar manner, made his blood boil. He meant his threat. He would kill Locke or any other man who hurt Eleanor, and take his damn sweet time about it.
"Excuse me." He rose to his feet with the help of his cane. Inside, rage still bubbled and popped. He needed to be far away from Locke right now, because he wasn't so certain he wouldn't do him further harm if the man remained in his sight.
He left Locke rubbing his throat and the rest of them watching him. Their gazes ranged from aversion to respect and covered all manner of opinion in between. One thing was for certain, they all knew now that his feelings for Eleanor were a fair bit deeper than their own.
He left the drawing room and made for the library. It was the safest room in the house for him right now. A book was just what he needed to distract him and help him pass the hours. If he spent any more time with the other guests, he would either blurt out the truth or murder one of them.
He had been there perhaps a quarter hour when the door opened. He looked up from his copy of
Gulliver's Travels
hoping to see Eleanor and found her sister instead. Dear God, this was not good. He was all alone in a room with Lydia, and she was blocking his only exit. There were always the windows.
"I hope I am not disturbing you." Her voice was like velvet, but her back was as stiff as steel.
His first thought was to tell her that disturbing him had been
exactly
what she hoped, but he kept that thought to himself. There was no need to antagonize Eleanor's family before the marriage license could be procured.
"Just rereading Swift," he informed her, setting the book aside. "Nothing of significance. What can I do for you?"
That might not have been the best choice of words for talking to Lydia, but there could be no taking them back now.
Everything about her was hostile, her stance, her expression, even her voice. "I suppose you are feeling pretty proud of yourself right now."
"For?" As if he didn't know.
She rolled her eyes. She knew he was playing dumb. "For convincing my sister to accept your suit."
"Yes. I am very pleased."
Her eyes were downcast. "At least she told us, not like before." He might have laughed at her feigned expression of guilt had her actions of years ago not caused both him and Eleanor so much pain and trouble.
"Nothing is like before." He was sober. He was older. Everything was different. He would not end up in bed with Lydia. Eleanor would not find a reason not to trust him.
Her gaze lifted to his. "Sobriety does not change a man, Brahm. It only makes him craftier."
What kind of idiot was she married to? He didn't know the man personally, but he had to be a real piece of work to have turned Lydia into such a bitter woman.
"Many things have changed me. Your sister sees that. I am sorry that you cannot." Actually he wasn't sorry at all, although he did harbor a degree of pity for her.
Lydia snorted, distorting her once pretty face into a mask of contempt. "When you tire of Eleanor and want something new, do not come sniffing around my door. You will not be welcome."
Bitter she might be, but Lydia certainly thought a lot of her own power as a woman. "I do not expect to ever tire of Eleanor, and trust me, if I ever do tire of your sister, your door will not be the one I come 'sniffing' at."
She stiffened. "I was good enough for you years ago."
What a mess she was. Clinging to one night in the past that meant nothing to him but obviously meant something to her. "We had one night that I do not even remember."
"Well I remember it!" She took a lurching step toward him. "You told me you cared for me! You told me you loved me."
It took a great deal of fortitude not to step back from her. He wasn't intimidated by her fervor, nor did he feel particularly threatened. He didn't feel particularly comfortable either. "I was foxed." It was difficult to be angry with her when she sounded so bloody pathetic. "I am sorry if I misled you, but I never harbored any feelings of the kind for you."
"Only Eleanor." Was that a sneer or a sigh?
"Yes."
"You are not good enough for her, you know." She was as petulant and pouty as a child. "We all believe it."
Yes, he knew it. But if she hoped to turn him away with mere words she would have to try much, much harder. "Then it is fortunate for me that Eleanor believes otherwise."
Lydia's expression was ugly and accusatory. "You will hurt her."
"Not if I can help it."
"You cannot help it. It is your nature."
This time her words pierced his armor and struck home. Was it his nature to hurt Eleanor? Would he be unable to help himself and one day injure her in a way that could not be repaired?
No, he would not. He could not. "This conversation grows tedious." He drew on his haughtiest voice, his most commanding manner. "You will have to excuse me, my lady, but I have more important things to attend to than listening to your accusations."
Lydia flashed him a mocking smile. "Running to Eleanor, Lord Creed?"
That was exactly what he was about to do, and it needled him that she knew it. "Actually, I thought I might have a word with your husband first."
He brushed past her to the door. Much to his satisfaction, she paled. It was a cruel gesture on his part, but necessary to his pride.
"Be careful what you start with me, my lady." He paused briefly as he opened the door. "Do not fool yourself into thinking I will not finish it for you."
* * *
Unfortunately it was late into the evening before Brahm had the chance to speak to Eleanor. Fortunately they were alone in her mother's parlor, the door locked, the drapes drawn, and but one lamp lighted. It was an intimate setting, the two of them sitting on the sofa, Brahm with his arm around Eleanor's shoulders.
As much as he hated to disturb this contentment, he knew he had to. "I had a confrontation with Lydia today."
Eleanor sat up, turning worried eyes to his. "About what?"
He told her, repeating word for word everything that had been said between them. He left nothing out, even if he thought it might make him look less than good in Eleanor's eyes.
When he had finished, Eleanor sighed and shook her head. "She is so protective."
Protective? It was all he could do not to snort. "She's jealous."
Eleanor nodded, her expression sad. "That too. How awful her own marriage must be that she wants mine to be so as well."
"You are far too forgiving and understanding with her."
She smiled sweetly at his gruff tone. "She is my sister."
That was supposed to explain everything, was it? Oddly enough, it did. Brahm sighed. "Fine, but I do not trust her."
Again she nodded, settling once more into his embrace.
They sat in silence, listening to the rain fall outside and the distant rumble of thunder.
"I have been thinking," she murmured a short while later.
"About?" he prompted when she didn't immediately continue.
Gentle fingers trailed along his thigh, awakening the nerves there through the wool of his trousers. "About the last time we were alone together."
In his room. Naked. In bed. One thought of it was enough to have his trousers suddenly feel very tight in the crotch. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
Her head tilted back, and her laughing blue gaze met his. "Would I be successful if I were?"
"Hell yes." His voice was a delighted growl. "But here?"
Eleanor glanced around them. "It seems as good a place as any."
How practical his little seductress was. In fact, she was proving to be many things that amazed and pleased him. She was intelligent and amusing and so very open with her feelings and desires. The only thing she was not open with was her heart. He knew she liked him. He knew she wanted and desired him, but he did not know if she loved him.
