That Despicable Rogue (16 page)

Without turning, she dashed out of the room and slammed the door smartly behind her.

‘Was it something I said?’ John drawled as he sat down on the leather chesterfield. ‘Or something you did?’

Ross sat in the wingback chair and picked up his cup to avoid answering. He took a large gulp of tea that brought tears to his eyes as the hot liquid burned down his gullet, but pretended not to be in acute physical pain as a result.

The intensity of that kiss had bothered him. He could not remember when he had been so immersed in one—to the extent that he had not heard Reggie and John arriving. And Reggie was not known for being light on his enormous feet. If they had not been interrupted he doubted either one of them would have had the strength to break it. Hell, another minute and he would have had her skirts up around her knees and the falls of his trousers open.

He had never allowed himself to be so out of control before—he was not sure he felt comfortable with the lapse. Prim had a strange power over him that was unnerving. For the first time in his life Ross found himself feeling more than simple physical attraction for a woman—something he had the good sense to find worrying.

Prim had a mind. He could discuss things with her. He wanted to understand her vulnerabilities and he enjoyed her fiery temperament. She might be quick-tempered, but that trait made her passions rise quickly too. For the last ten years he had worked tirelessly to get where he was and not given two hoots as to what people thought of him, yet he did not want to be a disappointment to
her
. That was quite unsettling.

He looked forward to coming back to Barchester Hall too, and not simply because he now had a proper home to come back to. He enjoyed the comforting ambience Prim had created for him. He appreciated her thoughtfulness—even when it was camouflaged in irritation on her part.

Ross had always been the one who looked after people—his mother and his sister, Reggie, all the other waifs and strays he’d collected out of a sense of duty. But Prim looked after him. That was a lovely feeling. She might nag at him and tut—but she brought him tea to stop him from working too long and getting headaches. She had brought order and calmness into his life—which he realised he had been missing. And she could certainly rouse his passions quicker than any other woman had ever done before.

If only she would share his bed with him every night she would be the perfect wife.

Where the hell had that errant thought come from? Ross scowled and snatched up his tea in consternation. He was not ready to be thinking about wives. Not until his sister was settled. The woman was making him daft.

‘I can see I have spoiled your mood.’ John had the audacity to look rather pleased with himself. ‘I must say, though, if she
is
a spy then she is a very good one. She never gave a single piece of paper more than a passing glance. Unless, of course, she is not interested in your investments. Perhaps she will tackle your correspondence with a bit more
vigour
.’

‘You told me to soften her up. I was merely doing a bit of softening. Are you sure she did not pay any particular interest in anything?’ He sincerely hoped his friend would drop it.

John shook his head. ‘I kept a very close eye on her the whole time. She either reads very fast or only reads the first few lines of everything.’ He took a sip of his own tea thoughtfully. ‘Of course she could slip down here later, while we are not looking, and have a proper read. She has made everything much easier to find for herself as well as for you.’

‘And she might not be a spy at all,’ Ross added irritably, wishing that it was true. ‘In which case we are both wasting our time.’

John stared at him for several moments before one side of his mouth quirked ruefully. ‘An interesting point of view. Perhaps you are not the only one doing a bit of softening?’

Ross smiled tightly. ‘Fear not, my friend, I am quite immune to that, I can assure you. You know that I am not interested in anything other than discovering the truth.’

It was a lie, and the possibility that such a thing might be the case worried him.

Chapter Seventeen

H
annah dunked her head under the cool water of the pond and then swam in another lazy circle. Even now, hours afterwards, she still felt hot and bothered after that kiss. Whatever had got into them both she could not say, and at some point she would have to tell him never to do it again, but for now she was content to revel in it and the sensations it had elicited.

His wise words had set her mind whirring. It was galling to think that Eldridge had damaged her to such an extent that she had been hiding behind their break-up all these years and wielding her independence as a shield to prevent herself from moving on with her life. How had he put it? Denying herself
possibilities
.

The problem was, lately the only possibilities she could think of involved Ross Jameson. She could dress it up however she wanted, but she felt more for him than simply lust. Her attempts at unmasking him had become increasingly half-hearted because, she realised with alarm, she had apparently lost the taste for it. In fact she really did not seem to actually
want
to find anything any longer.

She had done absolutely no digging at the warehouse. And today, when she had had the perfect justification to read through his private papers, she had barely given them more than a cursory glance. Instead she had been too busy enjoying his company.

When he had pulled her into his arms she had forgotten all the reservations she’d had. The seven years of loneliness, hurt and longing that she had buried ruthlessly inside had bubbled too close to the surface and had steadfastly refused to return to the neat box in her mind where she kept them. At that moment she had needed to feel beautiful and desired. She had wanted to be in those strong, safe arms again and to hell with the consequences.

Thank goodness they had been interrupted. Hannah was certain she would not have stopped the kiss otherwise. She had been too emotional and too raw, desperate to banish those painful feelings in the hot heat of his kiss. Her heart was already a little too engaged, and it would have been lost completely if she had succumbed.

Ross Jameson was best kept at arm’s length going forward. He was nothing like any of the men she had known before. He was kind, generous, funny, self-effacing and quite noble. But also clever, ridiculously attractive, and so,
so
tempting. All in all, a very dangerous combination.

She caught a brief glimpse of her hands. Her finger tips had shrivelled up like prunes, and she realised that she had been languishing in the water for far too long. Reluctantly, she waded up the steep bank and collapsed onto the towel she had spread on the ground so that the heat of the early-evening sun could dry her skin.

Ross Jameson was a conundrum, and he had left her so confused that she really did not know what to make of him or her conflicting feelings towards him. But he was right about her former fiancé. It
was
grossly unfair that he had never had to answer for his appalling treatment of her all those years ago. She deserved the truth, if nothing else. Perhaps the lack of it
was
actually holding her back?
Was
she denying herself ‘possibilities’ because of what that man had done to her? Did Eldridge
really
deserve to wield that much power?

For the first time since that night in the ballroom Hannah decided that it was time to demand the answers that her brother had promised but failed to provide. Eldridge had accused her of all those terrible things. Had he made it all up to get out of his obligation or had somebody else deliberately sabotaged her chance at happiness? The very fact that the incident could still reduce her to a sobbing mess after seven long years made her want to draw a proper line under it. She needed to know. Hell—she had a right to know.

With a renewed sense of clarity she sat bolt-upright. Eldridge had robbed her of her place in society, her happiness, her future and her confidence. The very least he could do now was explain why that had happened. His house was less than an hour away. Why shouldn’t she just turn up there and demand the answers that had never been forthcoming? If she left early tomorrow she would be there and back well before lunch.

Hastily she towelled off the rest of the water. If she got up before dawn she could saddle a horse and slip away unnoticed. Cook would make a suitable excuse if anyone asked.

Hannah twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with a few pins and then dragged on her clothes.

What would she feel when she saw Eldridge again? She knew already that she would not look at him with doe eyes any longer—but would she be angry? Or indifferent? She hoped she would be indifferent. That would wound the bounder much more than tears or regret.

The image of Viscount Eldridge confused and alarmed cheered her immensely. The sight of her would likely terrify him.

* * *

Hannah arrived at Viscount Eldridge’s country home just before nine. She had only visited the house once before, and could not remember if she had considered it to be such a Gothic monstrosity then as she did now. The place did not hold a candle to Barchester Hall, and she was oddly thankful that she had been spared the ordeal of being its mistress.

As it did not seem proper simply to march up to the front door and demand entrance, she sat on a secluded bench that gave her a good view of the back of the house. Eldridge would likely refuse to see her if she was announced, she realised, and the element of surprise would keep her in control of the situation.

After an hour or so two young boys skipped out into the garden. From the genteel way they were dressed, they had to be his sons. Obviously he had married during the intervening years, and that made her angry. How typical that he should be allowed to blithely get on with his life while she had been left to suffer. A family had been denied her. Thanks to him.

Hannah was just contemplating sneaking in through the back door and confronting him when the man himself appeared through some French doors as if she had conjured him. Even from a distance she could tell that the years had taken their toll. His blond hair was much thinner than it had been, while the well-cut jacket could not completely disguise the beginnings of a paunch. The Viscount clasped his hands behind his back and began to stroll slowly around the lawn in what she assumed was his morning constitutional.

As luck would have it, he was inadvertently heading in her direction. She sat straighter on the bench as he turned the corner and inclined her head in greeting, ignoring the unmanly squeal that emanated from his thin lips the moment he set eyes on her.

‘Hello, Charles,’ she said casually, as if she had every right to be trespassing in his garden. ‘It has been a long time.’

The Viscount’s jaw hung slack as he blinked at her in confusion. ‘H-Hannah! I hope you are well.’

The inane platitude made her smile. After all he had done, the best thing he could think of to say was that?

‘Yes, Charles, I am well,’ she responded dully. ‘No thanks to you.’

Eldridge coloured immediately and stood rooted to the spot. It gave her an opportunity to look him over objectively. He was shorter than she remembered, and not even all the padding in his jacket could cover up his narrow, stooping shoulders.

The best adjective she could think of to describe his face accurately was
aristocratic
, and it was odd that she should consider such a word to be an insult—but it was. His pale eyes were too small; his nose was too long and prominent. It had a slight bump in it that added to his haughty demeanour, as did the fact that his chin was so nondescript that it was almost not a chin at all—merely an extension of his over-long neck.

Why had she never noticed that he appeared to be constantly looking down that nose at everyone? His eyes were humourless—she preferred eyes that sparkled with mischief—and his mouth was not the sort of mouth that she would ever consider kissing now.

‘What do you want?’ he asked furtively, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the house. He clearly did not want his wife to find him in her company.

‘Try not to panic, Charles. I would prefer
not
to cause trouble.’

He visibly gulped at the implied threat and Hannah felt strangely empowered. This
was
therapeutic.

‘I came here for some answers, Charles, and I will not be leaving until I get them. Why don’t you come and sit down and then we can get it over with?’

Her voice dripped sarcasm, and for a moment she thought he might run away screaming, but after a few seconds of hesitation he did as she asked.

He sat primly on the furthest corner of the bench, with his knees pressed together like a maiden. Did he think that she was going to harm his male parts? His were the last male parts on the planet she would want anything to do with, but she smiled knowingly at him. Let him think that his jewels were in danger—it would serve him right.

‘I thought you were abroad,’ he muttered.

Large beads of perspiration had gathered unattractively on his top lip and prominent forehead.

‘Clearly I am not. But that is by the by. I came here to talk to you about the night you called off our engagement.’

She watched his Adam’s apple bob uncomfortably before he sighed. ‘I am sorry for the...the public nature of our argument that night,’ he said, not meeting her eyes. ‘I regret not doing it in private.’

The very fact that he did not regret calling their engagement off was duly noted, and she narrowed her eyes. ‘It was not your finest hour, but that does not concern me either. I am actually grateful that you broke our engagement. I cannot imagine how awful my life would have been if I had been saddled with such a spineless man as you. What I am more interested in is why you told everyone that I was a whore and pregnant with another man’s child.’

All the colour had drained from his thin cheeks but he stared back at her indignantly. ‘That was the truth. You cannot deny it!’

Hannah shook her head slowly. ‘It was most certainly
not
the truth. I had taken no lover nor been impregnated by one. I was nineteen, for pity’s sake, and had been out for just a year. Why would you think such a thing?’

Eldridge glared at her down his haughty nose, but withered under her level gaze. ‘I was told it on good authority. I had no reason to doubt the source.’

Hannah felt a little queasy at the knowledge that another person had indeed deliberately destroyed her happiness so cruelly, but hid it. ‘And who was the source of that vile lie, Charles? Which person wished me so much ill that they would construct such a fable? I am curious.’

For a minute his expression closed and his shoulders stiffened, but then he turned a little green and deflated. ‘I promised to keep his identity a secret,’ he said finally, with a faint tremor in his voice. ‘But as he is dead I suppose that no longer matters. It was your brother who told me.’

The words slammed into her like a punch in the gut, and she gasped and clutched at the bench for support. ‘You are lying!’ she whispered, sure that it could not be true.

He regarded her with righteous indignation. ‘It is the truth. He had no reason to lie. He came to me during the ball and said that he could not in all good conscience allow me to be cuckolded by you. He told me about all your lovers.’

‘All?’
Hannah cried bitterly, still reeling from the betrayal. ‘Pray tell me, sir, how many men did he accuse me of having when surely just the one was enough?’

Her own brother had sabotaged her wedding and banished her to Yorkshire on purpose. As soon as she got home she was going to jump on his grave.

Viscount Eldridge stood and smoothed down his coat. ‘Your brother warned me that you would deny it,’ he said, staring down his nose at her in disgust, ‘But he said that he knew for certain that you had dallied with a number of your servants and that your own stable master was the father of your child.’

The only stable master they’d had had been eighty if he was a day. Hannah laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Her life had been ruined by her own selfish brother.

‘And you believed him?’

To her own ears she sounded a mite hysterical, and Eldridge was regarding her as if she were mad.

Hannah stood proudly. ‘My brother was an idiot, Charles. Everybody knew it. He could not stay away from the gaming tables and he drank whisky with his breakfast. To think that you put more stock in what a man like that said than the word of your own fiancée says a great deal about you. You did not even ask me for my version of events. What is it about men of breeding and title that makes them believe they have the right to ride roughshod over a woman’s feelings?’

The rhetorical question was meant more for her treacherous brother than Eldridge—but both men had wronged her. She could not help comparing them unfavourably to Ross.

‘I had no reason to doubt your brother,’ Viscount Eldridge said rather pompously. ‘I still don’t.’

At that, Hannah raised her eyes heavenward. Despite all the hurt he had caused, Hannah felt a wave of almost palpable relief. Her fool brother had actually done her a favour—not that she was inclined ever to forgive him for it.
This
could have been her life.
This
could have been her husband. She would have spent years being subservient to a man who was little more than an empty vessel.

There was no substance to Charles. He was a stuffed shirt with lead for brains and inherited opinions that were so rigid they formed a prison around him. She would have been truly miserable had she become his wife, she realised. Miserable and trapped with a man that she could never respect.

‘Then Ross is quite right,’ she said imperiously, ‘You
are
an idiot and you certainly never deserved me.’

She would never shed a tear over the past again. Nor would she let it hold her back. With a flounce, she turned and sauntered back towards her waiting horse, strangely grateful that she had been saved from marrying such a pathetic man.