Hell and damnation. Lydia's timing was better than he hoped. So much better that he had to wonder if she had sent Eleanor to his room at an appointed time. Had Eleanor confided in one of her sisters? Or had Lydia somehow gotten her hands on the note he had slipped under Eleanor's door earlier confirming the time of their meeting?
What the hell did it matter now? She no doubt thought him the worst kind of cad. "When was she here?"
"No more than forty minutes ago."
While he had been cooling his heels at the filthy little cottage, Eleanor had kept their scheduled rendezvous and come to his room, only to find another woman in his bed. Wonderful. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This could not be happening. It could not.
"She loves you."
Brahm's head jerked as though Gentleman Jackson himself had landed his fist on it. He scowled, his expression as fierce as his tone. "What?"
Lady Dumont rose to her feet, an expression of envy on her lovely face. "Oh, she did not confess as such, but she did not have to. It was there in her eyes. She looked so very distraught."
His heart twisted. Of course she had. She no doubt believed him to be a lying bastard.
"I tried to explain, but she would not listen." As though adding some credence to her story, Lady Dumont pointed at the door. Did she expect the heavy oak to support her claims? "She practically ran from the room. Poor girl."
Poor girl indeed.
"I am very sorry, Lord Creed. Had I known of your relationship with Lady Eleanor, I would never have accepted the invitation, no matter how real I thought it was. I would never intentionally cause either you or Lady Eleanor such pain."
She was truly sincere in her regret, for which Brahm found himself surprisingly grateful. "Thank you."
She merely nodded and moved toward him, then past toward the door. "I will retire to my own chamber now. I know you have not asked my counsel, but were I you, I would take those notes to Lady Eleanor immediately."
That was sound advice. "I shall. Good night."
Her smile was sorrowful. "There has been little good in it thus far, my lord, but I thank you all the same."
Lady Dumont slipped from his room as quiet as a cat. No doubt she had a lot of experience tiptoing around at house parties. He wasn't being malicious toward her, quite the opposite. He was very thankful for her skill at skulking at the moment.
He waited but a few moments— long enough for Lady Dumont to make it back to her own room— before exiting himself. The darkened corridor welcomed him once more. He traversed it as quietly as he could with a stiff leg and a cane, and picked his way down the short flight of stairs, across the landing and up the other stairs to the family wing with excruciating speed. He hadn't wanted to disturb the other guests because the gossip was sure to spread, but he did not have such qualms about the family. In fact, he would like to show these notes to Lydia's father and husband and see what they had to say about them.
But Lydia's father and husband would have to wait. Right now his main concern was Lydia's sister. What would her reaction be to the notes? Would she absolve him of any wrongdoing? Christ, he hoped so.
He rapped on her door with his knuckle, the sound more muffled than if he had used his cane. Perhaps he didn't want to confront the entire family after all.
Silence followed. No sounds issued from behind the heavy wood. Was she asleep? Or worse, was she off somewhere weeping or cursing his name? He could search for her for the remainder of the night and never find her. The only other hiding spots he could think of were the library, the parlor, and the orangery, and she would be sure to avoid those, as she would no doubt realize he would search those locations first.
He was just about to turn away and start the search when the door opened, giving him full entrance.
He entered cautiously, half suspecting an ambush to be waiting— all five Durbane sisters waiting to draw and quarter him.
Instead there was only a lonely lamp and a woman who looked at him as though her world had fallen apart.
"I thought you might come," she admitted, her voice as disheartened as her expression.
What did he do now? Did he go to her and take her in his arms as he so badly desired, or did he try to explain? Or did he shove the notes at her and let her figure it out on her own?
"I am not having an affair with Lady Dumont," he blurted as he moved toward her. "I have
never
had an affair with her."
She nodded, but the sorrowful expression did not leave her face. "I know. I am not certain what she was doing in your room…Well no, actually I am certain of
why
she was there, I just do not know
how
it happened that she thought she would be welcomed."
"She was tricked. I was tricked as well. That is why I was not in my room when you arrived."
She nodded, her head seemingly too heavy on her delicate neck. "I had wondered at that."
So she hadn't totally believed him a bounder then. "Is there any chance that someone could have seen the note I sent you earlier?"
Her gaze drifted slowly— painfully so— to her vanity. Following her gaze, Brahm spotted a folded piece of paper. "I suppose. My room was not locked. Lady Dumont could have been in here. I do not know."
Should he tell her now or later that it was not Lady Dumont who saw the note? "Eleanor, this whole debacle was engineered. It is nothing more than a grand error that never should have happened."
Another nod. Her lips compressed, trying to still her quivering chin. "I reasoned as much, but it did happen, and in a way I am glad it did."
His brows jumped in unison with his heart. "You are? Why?"
Her throat worked on a swallow. It took a few seconds. "Because it forced me to face a few facts that before this I had allowed myself to ignore, and for that I owe you an apology."
This conversation was not going as he had hoped. It hadn't gone the way he had feared either, but something in her tone told him this night was not going to end favorably. He wanted to be wrong about that.
Her eyes were wet as her gaze locked with his. "I am so very sorry, Brahm."
His blood turned to solid ice, seizing his heart as well as his lungs. There was so very much unspoken in that statement. "Eleanor, what are you saying?"
A single tear trickled down her cheek. "I cannot marry you."
Chapter 14
S
he couldn't marry him? "Why the hell not?"
Eleanor flinched at his harsh tone but Brahm couldn't bring himself to regret it. She should flinch. This was the second time she had refused his proposal, and this time she was damn well going to explain herself. He was not walking away so easily this time, not when he had worked so hard to win her heart.
Perhaps he hadn't won her heart at all.
"It would be wrong for us to marry," she told him quietly. "It would be unfair to you."
Unfair to him to marry? What the devil did she think refusing him was? Fair? "I believe you owe me more of an explanation than that, Eleanor."
She drew a breath and squared her shoulders as though she was the one being attacked, being so brutally wounded. He was the one with his hopes and dreams being destroyed here. He was the one who had worked so hard to change, only to discover that apparently it was not enough.
"After finding Lady Dumont in your room— "
He didn't let her finish. "I told you I did not invite her. You said you believed me."
She nodded, her fingers twisting together over her stomach. "I did. I do."
"Then you know that was a mistake. It has nothing to do with us. It should have nothing to do with your decision to marry me." And she would marry him if he had anything to do with it. The idea of living without her now that he'd had a taste of what their life together might be like was unbearable.
A rueful sigh escaped her lips. "It has everything to do with my decision to
not
marry you, Brahm."
She knew exactly what to say to twist that knife in his chest just a little harder, dig it in just a little farther. His jaw clenched. "How?" By God, she had better make this good. He was deliberately holding back telling her about Lydia to save her further grief, and she seemed to be doing everything in her power to do the opposite to him.
"I did not trust in you. I thought you had bedded another woman. I believed you were having an affair with Lady Dumont." She looked so stricken, he was torn between wanting to go to her and comfort her and wanting to shake her for being so damnably foolish.
"Of course you did, you found her in my bed." He couldn't blame her for suspecting the worst at first. Such a surprise would catch anyone off guard and wreak havoc on her ability to think rationally. "I would have wondered the same thing were the situation reversed."
"No you would not." Tears filled her eyes, causing his heart to crack even further. It would shatter into a thousand pieces soon. "You would not doubt me at all, not because I came to you a virgin, but because you trust me."
She was right. He would be mad, but his first impulse would be to pound the bounder in her room senseless. Demanding to know what that same bounder had been doing there in the first place would be his second. "Ellie— "
Eleanor swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand, the other held up to silence him. "I even wondered if you might have been drunk. I almost wanted you to be drunk, then I could forgive you for Lady Dumont like I forgave you for Lydia."
Brahm stared at her. Good Lord.
"I'm not certain I have forgiven you for Lydia, Brahm." She sniffed, obviously fighting more tears, but she held his gaze regardless, her eyes glistening in the lamplight. "Perhaps that is why I was so quick to jump to conclusions."
"But you realized they were just that, conclusions." How quickly the words spilled out of his mouth, as if getting them out faster was going to help him keep her. He couldn't tell her the truth about Lydia now— not at this moment— she wouldn't believe it. Would she?
She raised her chin. "And if it happens again, how long will it take me to realize?"
He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of that question. "You are not likely to ever find a woman in our bed." Damn unlikely.
"Perhaps not, but when you go to your clubs and do not come home when I expect you to, will I wonder if you are with another woman? Will I wonder if you are drunk?"
A bitter taste filled his mouth. He couldn't fight this. He should have known it would not be this easy to atone for his past. It was coming back to taunt him once again. "I do not know. Will you?"
Eleanor shook her head. "I would love to say no, but I think I would, yes. I think I would be very afraid that you had found some diversion to keep you from me."
"You do not trust me." Or she didn't trust herself. It hardly mattered. She didn't trust in the two of them, and there was nothing he could do to repair that. It was something she had to do on her own.
"I do not." She was uncertain, he could see it in her eyes. What was she hiding from him? "You deserve to be trusted, Brahm. You deserve someone who will not doubt you."
He took advantage of her reluctance. "You did not doubt me, not really."
"I did." She did not sound totally convinced, but she was working on it. "And I will again."
"You cannot be certain." Perhaps if he kept insisting, she would finally agree with him. She would forget this nonsense and give them a chance.
"You cannot spend the rest of your life trying to prove yourself worthy to me."
It was time for a new tactic. Time to remind her what this was all about, why they were having this discussion in the first place— not because she didn't trust him, but because someone had conspired against them. "Eleanor, you are missing the real crime in this. Neither you nor I is to blame."
"Then who is?"
He drew a breath. It was time. He had promised her honesty, and he would keep his promise, even if it was likely to hurt her even more. "Lady Dumont and I both received notes written by the same person. A woman. I suspect it was Lydia."
"Lydia!" Her face was totally white save for two red splotches on her cheeks. "Oh, Brahm, no!"
Of course she didn't want to think so low of her sister. "Eleanor, Lydia was very angry with me for proposing to you. She was jealous. She also told Lady Dumont that I had been overheard expressing feelings for her. This whole debacle reeks of her interference."
"No. I refuse to think that my own sister would do such a thing. Someone else wrote the notes."
He offered both letters to her. "Will you not look for yourself."
She stared at the papers in his hand as though they were writhing snakes. "I will not. There is no need. It will not change anything."
