Forbidden Lord (15 page)

When he released her, he took her hand and led her out of the room and up the wide stairs. She went with him willingly, knowing it was wrong—and yet, she argued with herself, how could it be? She wanted him desperately and just now nothing mattered but that.

Drawing her inside his bedchamber, William closed the door and kissed her again, long and deep, and then with slow deliberation he began to undress her, his burning eyes devouring every inch of her exposed flesh. When she was naked he gathered her up into his arms in an act of possession into which Eleanor found herself snuggling with gratitude and what seemed to be absolute content. She wanted him and it was enough.

His silver-light eyes stared into her very soul, and she was hardly aware of the moment he placed her on the bed. William quickly divested himself of his clothing and stretched alongside her. The firm, hard muscles of his body pressed against hers, and the exploration of his hands on her flesh, gentle and
caressing, his lips devouring and tender, had her glowing and purring like a kitten.

A need began to grow inside her as his caresses grew bolder. It was a hollow feeling that ached to be filled. She felt on the threshold of some great and already overwhelming discovery. She quivered as his fingers stroked the swell of her breasts and continued over her flat belly and on to the curve of her hips and inner thighs and her feminine instinct whispered to her that her body held some incredible surprises in store for her. What he was doing to her was like being imprisoned in a cocoon of dangerous sensuality. She moaned and fought against the tumult of frayed emotions, but no effort of hers could bring about a quieting of her nerves.

William was slow, in no rush to possess her, for, this being her first time, she was innocent and inexperienced and she did not really know what to expect. Trapped beneath the exquisite promise of his aroused body and the persistence of his mouth, Eleanor began to tremble with uncontrollable need, and when he finally entered her William's carefully withheld hunger released itself in a frenzy that demanded that he possess her fully.

Eleanor cried out and so did he, but all around them the people in the great house slept and the lovers were unheard.

Sated and heavy with a contentment she had never believed possible, Eleanor heaved a soft sigh and settled in the sheltering arms of her lover. How wonderful it was to linger in his arms, to watch the flickering firelight wash over their naked bodies still entwined and feel him hold her close, to rest her cheek on his chest and feel his heartbeat, to revel in the warmth of him, the smell of him, and to see his eyes fill with a hungry need as he rolled her on to her back and took possession of her once more, and for a while made her forget everything else.

Later, while she slept in his arms, William lay awake, staring up at the tasselled tester, his mind occupied with how
he was to keep this woman who had come to mean so much to him in his house and in his life.

 

With the dawn came cold, harsh reality for Eleanor. Leaving the man sleeping amid a tangle of bed covers, his arms above his head and his powerful body stretched out, emotionally spent, she slipped out of William's bed and silently made her way back to her own where she laid down and closed her eyes.

Never had she felt more desolate or more ashamed. What she had done betrayed herself, her upbringing, and worst of all, her parents—and she had betrayed them with the traitor who had betrayed her father, resulting in his execution. She despised herself for it, she despised herself for being so easily tempted and for the unprecedented weakness that had driven her to it. Her weak will and fragile moral fibre had crumbled in the face of William's dangerous appeal. Only a fool without pride or sense would have done what she had done. It was totally inexcusable and she had sunk beyond social and moral redemption.

 

Later that same morning a messenger arrived at Staxton Hall from Lady Sandford. He brought two messages, one for Lady Alice and one for Eleanor, demanding that she go to Cantly Manor, insisting that her place was with her family. She wrote that Eleanor must inform her of what she intended doing and that when she decided to come she would send men who would escort her to Kensington. She also mentioned that Martin Taverner had been offered a profitable post at Court—thanks to the kindness of the Queen.

‘Will you go?' Anne asked when Eleanor told her the contents of the letter. The three of them were in the solar, altering another gown for Eleanor.

Eleanor, who was mechanically going through the motions of carrying on and survival, nodded, ignoring the
sudden knot in her chest. William had ridden off with Godfrey after breakfast and didn't know about the letter. The night she had spent in his arms had altered everything. The agony she had felt when she had crept to her room earlier had receded to a dull numbness. All she wanted to do was to leave Staxton Hall and never look back, to forget everything. All her attention must be focused on that, on forgetting that she had ever met William Marston, and that she had been foolish and vulnerable enough to surrender her body to him like a common strumpet.

‘In truth, Anne, I think I must. You have all been very kind to me and I am most grateful, but I realise that I cannot remain here indefinitely. Hollymead is no longer my home—I have come to accept that, and I have no wish to return to Fryston Hall.'

‘Did you live at Fryston Hall with Catherine?' Anne asked.

‘Yes. She was my stepsister.'

‘Did you like her?'

‘Of course I did. We spent a great deal of time together.'

‘It's odd—you think so too, don't you, Jane?—that William didn't spend longer in London before coming here. After all, they were to have been married. He must have missed her—being away from her all that time.'

Eleanor looked from one to the other. ‘Catherine married someone else. Didn't you know?'

They stopped sewing and gaped at her. ‘What?' Anne asked disbelievingly. ‘Oh, poor William. How awful that must have been for him. Why did she do that?'

‘I suppose she got tired of waiting,' Jane said. ‘She probably thought he was never coming back and she couldn't be expected to wait for ever. But you must know how she felt when William suddenly turned up, Eleanor. Was she overjoyed, upset—or is she so much in love with her new husband that she no longer cares?'

‘I—I think Catherine does still care. When William arrived at Fryston Hall Catherine had only been married for a few
hours. It was her wedding day—and, yes, she was greatly affected by William's sudden appearance.'

‘Poor William.' Anne sighed, resting her sewing in her lap. ‘Little wonder he doesn't speak of her. He must be hurting terribly.'

‘He—William—loved her?' Eleanor enquired tentatively.

‘Of course he loved her,' Anne told her with all the passion of youth. ‘William told us how beautiful she is, how fine and gentle—indeed, none more so. How could he help himself loving her? The worst of it is that I think in his heart he still does.'

Eleanor felt the vicious thrust of foreboding. Anne's words tore into her heart and mind with a rending impact that shocked her. She felt more hurt than she cared to admit. She listened in cold disquiet as Anne went on to sing Catherine's praises, and she found it difficult to equate this loving, caring woman with the Catherine she knew.

‘Do you think Catherine will divorce her husband?' Jane asked, threading another length of silk through her needle.

Eleanor shook her head. ‘No,' she said quietly. ‘Her father would never permit it. Did—either of you ever meet Catherine?' she asked, hating discussing Catherine, but feeling compelled to know all there was to know about how close she had been to William.

‘We never did,' Jane said with a note of regret, ‘although William used to speak of her all the time when he was home.'

As the two girls continued chatting like two vivacious humming birds, blithely impervious to what she was feeling and the hurtful jealousy scraping at her heart, Eleanor lowered her head over her work, a sick feeling of disappointment welling up within her. She longed to give vent to her own bitter pain. Never had any man appeared so attractive to her, and never had her heart called out so strongly to another.

Was his heart still entwined with Catherine's, she asked herself, and, if so, how could he have taken her, Catherine's stepsister, to his bed? She should have repulsed him, which
was what any good, decent, God-fearing young woman would have done. But that wasn't what she had done, she thought with self-revulsion. No, indeed. Instead she had allowed her father's betrayer to kiss and touch her, and worse.

T
he arrival of a second messenger from London later that day brought a letter for William. It was from an associate informing him of matters at Court and other matters that might be of interest to him. The messenger was known to William and, closeted in the privacy of the library, they talked well into the night.

The following morning he brusquely announced to his mother that he was leaving for London that very day.

‘What on earth for?' his mother said, alarmed and clearly upset by his sudden decision. ‘The roads will be atrocious, as they always are at this time of year. If you must go, then surely the most sensible thing would be for you to wait until spring.'

‘I can't wait that long. I have some urgent business to attend to that cannot wait. I shall hire extra men to add to your protection while I'm away.'

‘I see. Then, if it is so important, I suppose you had better go. But you will not be away too long, I hope. Staxton Hall has been too long without its master.'

From where she sat, Eleanor watched William in silence. Ever since that letter had come the change in him was immediate and Eleanor could not determine his emotions. There was a new tension in his body, a new tightness about his jaw
and a restlessness about his manner. She tried to read his thoughts, trying not to be distracted by the curve of his mouth and softened by the lock of hair falling over his worried brow. What was so urgent that he had to hurry back to London?

She was alone in a small parlour, settled before the fire sewing some buttons on to the bodice of a gown when she heard the door open. She knew it was William and she held her breath as his soft footfalls echoed around her.

‘Can you stop that for now?' he asked quietly.

Raising her head, she looked up at him. She studied the terse lines of his face revealed by the firelight. There were dark shadows around his eyes, and the uncompromising lines at the sides of his mouth had not been there when she stole from his room the day before.

His close presence emanated a sense of controlled power straining beneath the surface. Just when she thought that she would not be affected by him he appeared and all her carefully tended illusions were dashed. Why had he sought her out? Why hadn't he just gone away and let her be reconciled to his leaving? Why did he have to prolong her misery?

Setting aside her sewing, she rose and smoothed her skirts, surprised to feel her hands trembling. ‘Are you ready to leave?'

He nodded. ‘You heard me tell Mother I am to set on extra men to guard the house.'

‘Why?'

‘To soothe your fears. When I leave you may have need of some convincing protection. Since we've attracted the likes of Frederick Atwood, who knows what could happen? With plenty of guards about, it will add to your safety.'

She inclined her head, playing with a ring on her finger, unable to look at him. She was trying so hard to be calm and composed, but it was not working out that way. ‘You still think we are in danger from my stepfather's henchmen?'

‘It is possible—although there have been no reports of strangers in the area. However, I don't wish to take any chances.
I would have contempt for myself if I did not do my duty towards you and my family,' he said through a twisted smile.

He seemed so sincere. Eleanor could see it in his eyes. He did want her safe, she believed that.

William studied her, relaxing slightly as his gaze caressed her lovely features. She did not seem herself. No doubt she was upset at his leaving. She was a little hesitant, almost as if she wished herself elsewhere.

‘Eleanor, I have to go.' Drawing her towards him, he wrapped his arms around her. At first she responded and leaned into him. Then she checked herself and drew back, putting distance between them.

‘Will you not have some wine before you go?' she asked, forcing herself to meet his eyes, her own veiled and cautious.

‘Time is of the essence.' When she would have moved away, he stayed her by placing his hand on her arm. ‘I sense something is the matter. Is it something I have done to offend you?'

Eleanor glanced at him at once. ‘No, of course not. Please don't think that.'

‘Then what is it? Tell me. Come, Eleanor,' he murmured, his teeth glistening from between his parted lips and his eyes holding a devilish light. ‘When I ride away I don't want to remember you with a long face—much rather the lovely smiling one.'

‘There is nothing wrong. It—It's just that I'm sorry you are leaving. I—I shall miss you.'

He smiled, touched by the simplicity of her confession and having no reason to read anything else behind it. ‘It won't be for long. I'll be back before you've had time to miss me. What did your aunt have to say in her letter?' he asked. Having been so preoccupied with his own news from London, he had omitted to enquire. His gaze searched hers, but their depths were deliberately shuttered. ‘Does she want you to go to her?'

‘Yes. She—is concerned and regrets she was not at home when I left Fryston Hall.'

‘And?' he asked, studying her closely. ‘What will you reply?'

Eleanor lowered her eyes lest he saw the true answer in her eyes. ‘I shall give it some thought. Your mother has very kindly told me I am welcome to stay here for as long I wish to—particularly as the roads are not fit to travel just now should I decide to go to Cantly Manor. But won't you tell me why you have to go?' she ventured to ask quietly. ‘What is so important that you have to go rushing off to London at a moment's notice?'

Now William's face tightened and shut as if a door had been closed. He turned from her abruptly. ‘Please don't ask, Eleanor. It is—of a personal nature.'

Alarm flared in her eyes. ‘Personal? William, are you in danger?'

The silence that followed was long and heavy. The firelight cast shadows over his handsome face, making his expression stern. ‘I can't say. It's all very complicated, but not beyond me.'

‘Then whatever it is that takes you away, I hate it,' she said, suddenly unable to stop herself, the internal war between her mind and her heart escalating to tumultuous proportions.

William looked at her, a flicker of laughter in his eyes. He gave her a penetrating look. ‘Now that is what I want to hear—that familiar spirit of defiance I have not heard since you came to Staxton Hall—that bite of temper I saw in you when we first met.'

Eleanor knew he was trying to ease the situation with humour, to make it easier for her, for himself, and she wondered how he would react if he knew that she would soon be following him to London.

Taking her hands in his firm ones, forcing ease into his voice, he said, ‘There is someone in London I have to see, Eleanor. Things—happened that I have to put right before I can get on with my life. What happened during those missing years is not over and I have to have the courage to see this through to the end. I have to go. If I didn't do this, I would have contempt for myself.'

Though Eleanor had decided to end their acquaintance, her eyes were suddenly moist because she had no choice, no options. Horribly afraid for him, she lowered her head, not wanting to dull the edge of his courage with her fear and struggling to cauterise her emotions. He mustn't know she was leaving. He wouldn't let her go easily, and never without probing questions. Trying not to think of Catherine, who was like a shadowy, threatening figure hovering on the periphery of her mind, she looked up at him and a faint smile flitted across her lips.

‘Then you must do what you have to do, William. And do not be concerned about us here. We are safe enough,' she said at last, hiding the pain she felt in her heart.

They were startled when someone rapped on the door and loudly told William his horse was ready.

William turned to leave.

‘William?'

He faced her, his eyes devoid of emotion. For the times she had been close to him he'd let his guard down and revealed the man behind the title and the stern facade, but now, standing before her, he was a stranger, keeping his emotions and thoughts in check. She desperately wanted to know how to reach him, but could think of no way.

‘I'm sorry you have to go. Please take care.'

Suddenly there was such intensity in his gaze that Eleanor felt her heartbeat quicken. He snatched her into his arms, breathing deeply of the sweet scent of her.

‘I will,' he whispered, his lips against her hair. ‘I shall miss you, Eleanor, but I have to go.'

His lips took hers in one final deep and tender kiss and the seductive scent of the sandalwood he always used filled her senses.

Eleanor followed him out of the house, her eyes shadowed by pain. She stood aside as he embraced his mother and sisters and strode to his horse. Godfrey and the messenger were
already mounted. A groom cupped hands for his master's boot and William vaulted into the high saddle of his hunter. With a final salute Eleanor watched him ride over the cobbled courtyard and over the drawbridge. Already she felt the suffering of his loss. As suddenly as he had appeared he had fallen out of her life, leaving a jagged, gaping hole in it, and she felt lost and afraid and very much alone once more.

In need of privacy, Eleanor excused herself and went slowly towards the stairs, pausing outside the library before going in to find something to read that would occupy her mind for the next hour until dinner. Idly perusing the many leather-bound volumes on the shelves, but unable to find a book that appealed to her present mood, she decided to abandon the idea.

Passing the desk on which there were inkwells and quills, scrolls and manuscripts, sitting on the top of a pile of papers she saw an open letter. Suspecting it was the letter the messenger had brought yesterday, her curiosity was aroused. It was not in her nature to pry into other people's affairs, but she couldn't resist picking it up, and before she could help herself her eyes were scanning the writing.

There were a lot of things she didn't understand—about the Court and a ship that had been sighted in the Thames and was due to arrive in London at any time from somewhere she couldn't decipher—but the most interesting and tragic thing that caught her attention was that Henry Wheeler, Catherine's husband, was dead.

It was such a dreadful thing to happen and she was very shocked. Her first thoughts were for Catherine and how devastated she must be to lose her husband after just a few short months of marriage. Reading on, she learned that Henry had drowned, that he had taken a boat late one night from Chelsea to go to Westminster only to meet with tragedy. When his boat collided with another, he was thrown into the river. His body was recovered the next day.

Catherine was a widow. The fact hit her like a thunderbolt.
Suddenly everything was clear and her heart was in shreds. She felt as if she was dying by inches. Her face was empty of all expression and there was a terrible blankness in her eyes. Catherine was free to marry again. William knew and had gone tearing off to London to be with her. He had implied he had unfinished business to take care of, something to do with the three years he had been gone, and he had also told her there was someone he had to see.

It was Catherine, she just knew it. What other explanation could there be? The very thought of it devastated her. She never thought she could feel such pain. She couldn't stand it, and her flesh that had quivered when she had been in his arms turned ice cold.

A grey desolation spread over her. Even though she had decided that she would leave Staxton Hall and William for good, and that in all probability she would never see him again, for the brief time she had been in his home she had allowed herself to dream, and his rejection of her diminished her in some irreparable way. She had not asked for this, had not chosen to feel so deeply for him, and she did not know the exact moment when it had happened.

She had not bargained on the bond between William and Catherine. It was still there, pulling at them. What other explanation could there be for him to go rushing off to London when he learned she was free if not Catherine? She knew a dreadful resentment that William had left without telling her that Henry Wheeler had died, as if she were of no more importance than a passing acquaintance. She was shaken momentarily mindless that he could do this to her. It was not just anger she felt, she realised, but humiliation, shame, hurt pride, and an awareness of her own foolish naïvety.

Her jaw tightened, her resilient spirits stretching themselves as they had done once before when she had decided to leave Fryston Hall. Straightening her back, with a new determined gleam in her eyes, and seized with urgency she picked up a quill
and wrote to her Aunt Mildred. Only when she was away from anything that was connected with William would she be able to claw back the self-esteem he had stolen from her.

When this was done, she went in search of Lady Alice to inform her of her decision to leave Staxton Hall—that she had decided to wed Martin Taverner she kept to herself.

Lady Alice was sitting near the fire in her chamber, laboriously measuring out different-coloured silken threads to repair a damaged tapestry, while two of her ladies folded linen into a chest. ‘So, Eleanor,' she said, looking up at Eleanor, ‘you are to leave us.'

‘Yes, Lady Alice,' she said with a swift smile.

‘We shall be sorry to lose you—especially Jane and Anne. They are going to miss you—we all will. It has been a pleasure having you here.'

To Lady Alice's surprise Eleanor's eyes filled with tears, but she only smiled and said, ‘You have been very kind, and I am going to miss you all.'

Lady Alice frowned, suddenly thoughtful. She felt that the matter that had worried her of late could not be avoided. Her sharp eyes had seen when William and Eleanor had exchanged lingering smiles and complicit looks. How intimate had their relationship become, she asked herself concernedly, and, if so, was there really any harm in it? William was known for a lusty man who, in his youth, had been somewhat wild and for ever attracted by a pretty face, and it was only on his father's death that he had settled down to the more serious matters of soldiering and making sure the estate was well run.