But then he had gone and ruined that, well and good. And now she looked at him as though he were something she had just scraped off the bottom of her slipper. But there was something else in her gaze— a touch of wariness that told him his cause was not lost yet.
This uncomfortable silence had dragged on long enough. One of them had to speak.
"Hello, Eleanor." He winced. That hopeful whining wasn't really his voice, was it?
For a split second, her cool mask of composure and contempt cracked, and she looked almost as vulnerable as he felt. Perhaps her forgiveness was too much to ask. Until now he had only thought of what this opportunity might afford him, not what discomfort it might offer her. If she still harbored ill feelings toward him for what he had done years ago, then perhaps her feelings for him had been deeper than he first thought. Perhaps he had wounded her so greatly, she would never find the ability to forgive him. He had bedded her sister after pledging her his troth. Were the situation reversed, he didn't know if he could be man enough to forgive such a betrayal, no matter what the circumstances.
"Lord Creed." Her voice was huskier than he remembered, and her formality brought the sting of shame to his cheeks. And yet…
If she was still so bitter after all these years, perhaps there was a chance she too retained some secret regard for him. Perhaps he still had a hold on her heart as she did on his. They were connected in some twisted way— she as the one who rejected him and he as the one who broke her heart. Too many unanswered questions, too many regrets and doubts. Youthful hope combined with youthful heartbreak.
And then there was the fact that she was a woman and he a man, and all he had to do was look at her to know he wanted her, and his past hope of making her his viscountess had nothing to do with it.
"Lord Creed," the sister behind Eleanor began in a musical, yet firm voice, "We were not expecting you."
He smiled at that blatantly polite understatement. "I apologize for any…
inconvenience
my arrival proposes." That was an understatement in itself. So what transpired now? Was he to be tossed out without so much as a chance to explain himself to this woman, this phantom of his heart who had become an obsession? He could not go back to wondering what might have been, not after coming this far.
He would not go back. He would ask for her forgiveness as they dragged him out the door. Whatever happened after that didn't matter.
Eleanor's gaze remained locked with his. Neither of them had looked away since he entered the room. How much longer could they go on simply staring at each other before one of them cracked?
"Would you mind leaving us?" Eleanor asked. For a moment Brahm thought she had directed the question at him, as her gaze never wavered. Only the warmth in her tone told him otherwise.
Her sisters— three blue-eyed women wearing the same expression of surprise— turned to her. Eleanor's attention remained where it was. It was all Brahm could do not to lose himself in her eyes. They were pools of cornflower blue that reflected so much— more than he wanted to see. Eleanor's eyes weren't just windows, they were mirrors. Once he had seen himself as she had, and it had pleased him. Now he was glad she was so far away so he couldn't see himself as she did.
"No," Muriel replied resolutely. "We are not leaving."
The soft-voiced sister— Arabella, if memory served— placed a hand on Muriel's arm, but her gaze went to Brahm. He was dimly aware of her scrutiny out of the corner of his eye, as he was determined not to be the one to break the contact between himself and Eleanor. "If Eleanor wants us to leave, we must respect that."
Yes! Alone with Eleanor. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same.
Arabella's hand went to Eleanor's shoulder. "We will be in the corridor if you need us."
Apparently Eleanor wasn't going to be the one to look away first either. She held his gaze as she covered the hand on her shoulder with her own. "Thank you, Bella."
The three Durbane sisters each shot him a look of warning as they reluctantly left Eleanor's side. Thank God Lydia hadn't been present. Her presence would have been a barb for both him and Eleanor— and might have made it all the easier for Eleanor to toss him out on his arse.
Brahm didn't look at the sisters as they filed out, but he knew the minute they were gone— not because he heard the door close, but because the air thickened when he and Eleanor were left alone. Suddenly his mouth became a little dry and the skin beneath his collar a little damp.
He opened his mouth to speak, uncertain of what to say.
Eleanor beat him to it. "You were not invited to this party."
Brahm closed his mouth and tried again. "I was." It wasn't as eloquent a statement as it could have been, but it served its purpose.
Her slender arms folded across her chest. Did she realize that belligerent pose pushed her breasts upward in a most enticing manner? Probably not. "Prove it."
He slipped his hand inside his jacket and withdrew the invitation. He paused before giving it to her, enjoying the heightened emotions playing across her face as she waited. When he offered it, she snatched it from him as though she was afraid his touch might burn. He should have been offended, but he wasn't.
She had to lower her gaze from his to read the invitation, something she was loath to do, he could tell. What did she think he was going to do, pounce on her while her attention was diverted? It wasn't an entirely unpleasant thought, but he preferred willing flesh to unwilling. And he wanted Eleanor willing. So willing he was ashamed of it.
The vellum crumpled in her fingers as the hands holding it clenched into fists. She knew his claim was true. He had been invited. Someone other than he had betrayed her this time.
Those silvered blue eyes flashed, almost blinding him with the force of their emotion as her gaze snapped to his. "How dare you accept."
Brahm chuckled. He couldn't help it. Did she honestly think that he could have refused such an opportunity? "It would have been rude of me not to."
"It was cruel of you otherwise." A catch in her voice sliced at his heart and robbed him of his smile. "I never told anyone what a blackguard you are, and this is how you repay me?"
Repay her? Did she expect him to believe that
he
had been the one she sought to protect?
"If you want retribution for your silence, then speak to your sister. I neither expected nor asked for your secrecy. The only thing I owe you is an apology, which I am here to give."
She looked as though she might choke. "An apology? After all these years? I do not want it. I would not believe it."
"What about what you owe to me?"
Eyes widened, then narrowed to angry slits. "I owe you nothing." The words fairly seethed out of her.
Did she not? A few moments ago he might have believed that, but heightened emotion now had him thinking otherwise. "You owe me the chance to explain. You never gave me that when you broke our engagement."
"Explain?" A quick glance at the door lowered her tone. "There was nothing to explain. I know what you did."
"You know what your sister told you."
She took a lurching step forward, as though she wanted to strike him but managed to stop herself just in time. "I know what I
saw
."
Saw? Oh dear God. "What did you see?" He had no memory of that night, nothing except waking up beside Lydia and knowing with awful certainty that they had shared more than just pillows.
Her clear skin flushed a deep rose, but she held his gaze. She looked so angry— angry with a touch of humiliation as she obviously remembered with perfect clarity what she had seen that made her reject him. He had thought Lydia had told her what happened. Why had Eleanor not told him this before?
"I saw the two of you together," she replied.
Brahm raised a brow. That statement could mean so much, especially in polite company— which he was not. "Together?" Before, after, or during?
The crimson of her cheeks deepened. Her entire neck and upper chest matched in hue. She was a proper lady, not used to such talk, and it was cruel of him to taunt her so, but since he had no memory of that night, hers would have to suffice for the both of them.
"You were naked," she informed him in a low, hoarse voice. "My sister was naked. And you were on top of her. Is that description enough for you, or do you wish me to continue? I assure you I remember every detail most acutely."
Brahm swallowed. The hurt in her voice bruised him. The accusation in her eyes stung. There was a hollow feeling in his chest, as though someone had reached in and pulled something out. He could not deny it because he didn't know anything different. If she had nothing but her sister's word, then there was a chance that he could deny it, both to himself and Eleanor, but if Eleanor had seen, then he had no other choice but to believe.
How could he have done something so awful to her? And how was he ever going to even begin to make amends for it?
"Eleanor, I am so sorry."
She made a scoffing noise. "Of course you are." But she didn't sound as if she believed it at all. "I have no idea why you are here, and I'm sure I do not care, but I am going to discuss this with my father, and he will rectify the situation." She thrust the crumpled invitation back at him, and after a moment's hesitation he took it.
Their gazes locked once more, and this time she was close enough that he could see himself in her eyes. He looked lost, stupefied, and very much like the blackguard she knew him to be.
"Until then, Lord Creed," she continued flatly, "please know that I have given you the explanation you sought and therefore owe you nothing."
Brahm could only watch as she swept from the room, her spine still so straight and regal, while his was surely slumped with shame.
No, Eleanor Durbane owed him nothing. But he certainly owed a great debt to her— one he had no idea in heaven how to even begin to repay.
* * *
Eleanor stormed up the stairs to the next floor where her father's bedchamber was located, her sisters scurrying after her.
"What did he say?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Eleanor, say something!"
They were at the landing. To the left were the stairs to the family rooms. To the right were the stairs to the guest quarters. Eleanor spared Arabella the briefest glance as she willed her clenched jaw to relax enough to reply. "Papa invited him."
A collective gasp rose behind her as she neared the top of the stairs. Her sisters were, of course, suitably horrified. Eleanor, however, wasn't horrified. She felt hurt, confused, and more than a little betrayed. There was also a traitorous part that had leaped with excitement at the sight of him, but she wasn't going to address that now.
What the devil had her father been thinking?
Her father, like her sisters, didn't know the truth behind Eleanor's rejection of Brahm years before. Until today not even Brahm himself had known. She hadn't meant to reveal that she had seen him and Lydia engaged in their sordid liaison, but he had made her so
angry.
Normally she wasn't the kind to lose her temper, but Brahm Ryland brought out the worst in her.
He'd always held the ability to make her act out of character. It was an odd ability for someone she hardly knew. True, she had known enough of him to accept his offer of marriage many years ago, but the offer came after but a few weeks' acquaintance. Neither of them had been exactly green, but their courtship had swept both of them away on a giddy tide. It happened so quickly, but it had felt so right.
Which made finding him with Lydia in such a shocking manner all the more painful.
And now he wanted to apologize?
Now?
What was he, mad? Whatever had possessed him? And why would he possibly think she'd want to hear his explanation after all these years? There was no explanation he could offer.
The change of his countenance when she informed him that she had seen him and Lydia was so horrific, it could mean only one of two things: that he had been foxed and had no recollection of the night, or that he had meant to lie to her about what had happened, and she had ruined it by revealing the truth.
It was no doubt the latter, even though a tiny voice in her head suggested the former. No matter that he had betrayed her in the worst possible way, some small part of her never missed a chance to defend his actions. She didn't like to think ill of people, even those who deserved it.
Well, if Brahm Ryland had something to prove, he could prove it elsewhere. If she had her way— and as mistress of the house she always did— he would be gone before the hour.
Her slipper caught at the carpet as she misstepped, almost causing her to tumble to the floor. Her sisters, chattering like magpies behind her, luckily didn't notice, otherwise Eleanor would have to think of an explanation for her stumble. The truth would not do, for the thought that had occurred to her was something she could never voice without revealing everything.
