The Sins of Lord Easterbrook (28 page)

“They are gawking at us,” Leona said after an hour of suffering wide-eyed stares.

“That is because you are so beautiful.”

They paced their horses past a group of farmers sitting to their morning meal. Leona slyly watched them out of the corner of her eye as she passed.

“It is not my face that astonished those men,” she said. “They squinted at you very hard before their mouths fell open.”

“It is possible that they first mistook me for Hayden. We look much alike.”

“And the gape-mouthed reaction when they realized you were not he? You do not attend to this estate, do you? Not at all.”

“Hayden deals with the land steward. He took it on when I traveled, and proved so talented that there was no reason to have him stop.”

“I am sure that he executes the duty superbly. However, the land is yours. The lives of these people depend on you. I think it reassures them to see you take at least a tiny interest in the estate today.”

Her voice remained sweet, even speculative, as if she voiced a passing thought. He heard a scold anyway.
When they passed the next field, he felt obligated to acknowledge the way work stopped. He made a display of looking over the crop.

A lad no more than twelve grinned and waved in response to the lord's moment of attention. Leona waved back. The boy's father waved now too. Christian felt Leona's rein slap his leg. He lifted his hand.

“See? They are very happy to see you. They will talk about it for days.”

He could imagine what they would say. These good people did not populate London's drawing rooms, but their gossip was much the same.

Two days later Leona accompanied him to the village of Watlington. They visited the shops and Leona bought some pins at a mercer's. Christian examined the shelves while she completed her business.

“That shop appeared to interest you,” she said when they were out in the lane again.

“I have not been in it since I was a boy. Much has changed.”

“You do not visit this village now, do you?”

He could not remember when he had last, except for the Bradwells’ wedding. “Not often.”

“It is like your attendance at parties and dinners, or going to the park during the fashionable hour. Your normal habits do not include these things.” She tugged gently and surreptitiously at his cravat. “Even this. You had little cause to wear one a month ago.”

“You are worth a cravat every now and then.”

She smiled at him, and her eyes reflected the day's sunshine. “I am flattered that you think so. You honored
me with your pursuit, to a degree that I did not understand. All of those crowds—it was unpleasant for you.”

Not too unpleasant. Not as much as he expected. Even now, on this market day in Watlington, as bodies jostled by, the curse affected him much less than in the past.

Her presence beside him made the difference. His attention had little time or room for anyone else. Whether they conversed or he daydreamed about the nights past and those to come, she created a place of freedom and calm in which he tasted a normal life.

“I am not sacrificing myself, if that is what you assume,” he said.

“If you sacrificed a little, I would not feel bad. You have been teaching me some very wicked things, and you should pay a little something for my shameful compliance.”

“Whatever you want is yours, Leona, whether you comply or not.”

She blushed prettily at first, then a shadow entered her. She turned her attention to tucking the pins into her reticule. “I may ask you to be true to your word someday, Christian.”

Most likely so. He might regret this impulsive offer that was born of a desire to shower her with gifts. Happiness was making him stupid.

She smiled a very private smile that made him more stupid yet. “The compliance has not been without its own rewards. You owe very little on the account.”

The flattery pleased him to a ridiculous extent. As they strolled on his mind naturally contemplated what other compliances might be obtained.

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She was wrong, of course. He already owed her more than he could ever repay, and it had little to do with pleasure. Worse, she had already warned that when she called in the note, his cost would be the loss of her.

Having abandoned good sense, Leona did not go in search of it for a week. She ruefully acknowledged to herself that Easterbrook kept her in such a sated daze that she could not have found good sense even if she tried.

The erotic lessons grew bolder, but each one seemed the most normal and natural thing to learn. She became accustomed to his quiet voice guiding her. Normally she would be so crazed that the suggestion did not shock her at all. He knew how to ensure she would want what he wanted. He had learned what gave pleasure all too well.

The morning after their sixth night at Aylesbury, they sat to breakfast in his chambers. She wore nothing more than her nightdress and he lounged in hastily donned trousers. The servants served the meal as if both marquess and mistress were dressed for a promenade on Birdcage Walk.

She watched the flourish with which all was made ready. The house had come alive this week. The servants all stepped quickly.

“They are happy that you are here,” she said when they sat at the table.

“Who?”

“The household. The servants. Your visit gives them purpose.”

He glanced to where a man swept the hearth. “I trust they do not expect it to become a commonplace now.”

“You do not care for Aylesbury Abbey?”

“I used to hate it. Now.…” He shrugged.

She wondered why he hated it, but that shrug discouraged any questions on the matter.

He turned his attention elsewhere, but eventually it returned to her.

“This was not a pleasant home when I was a boy. My mother feared my father, and had cause to.”

“Did you fear him too?”

“As a child I did. Later I pitied him and, by the time he died, despised him. Now I just ignore the memory of him.” He gestured at the bedchamber. “For years I refused to use these rooms. Then I realized that was a perverse form of sentimentality. So I banished his presence by imposing my own on the spaces he commanded. But, yes, I still dislike Aylesbury, although I have not thought about that this last week.”

“The housekeeper said your mother spent much time here, though. Writing poems, she said.”

“She retreated here the last few years of her life. The rest of us lived in London. We would visit her, and she would pretend to care. But she rarely left that library, or the chambers of her own mind. There were others who suspected my father of a serious crime. She unfortunately knew it was true.” He paused. “She just knew.”

The way he said that, so similar to how he described his own curse, made Leona blink. He thought this was inherited.

Was that why he physically withdrew at the end of their passion? Not only to spare her the common consequence of an affair, but also to ensure no child would live what he had lived?

Her heart clenched at the evidence that he assumed he must avoid being a father. She had not dwelled on his revelation the last few days. It did not directly affect her, and no one else shared this time with them. Yet here it was, inserting itself again, affecting her understanding of him and the choices he made.

“Was she correct in her knowing?” she asked. “Were you perceiving the same thing?”

“Guilt saturated him. Hardened him. Frightened him.” His jaw squared. “He killed a man over her. Not with any pretense of honor either. Not a duel. He had a man murdered.”

The revelation stunned her. She had not imagined that a shadow like this hung over his family.

“Are you certain? Do you just know, as she did, or have you sought the facts?”

“I am certain, but I have chosen not to confirm it with facts.”

“Then you could be wrong. She could have been wrong too. Perhaps the guilt came from something else. You said you do not read minds and must interpret what you sense. I would want to confirm such a thing before I damned a person. The truth is you only believe this, Christian. You do not really
know.”

“Perhaps you are right. I count on the chance that you are. If I seek confirmation, that corner of ambiguity ends. I would rather leave the worst parts of his legacy unclaimed.”

Mail arrived with the coffee, the bread, and the fish that he favored in the morning. He glanced through the letters.

“My visit to the county has been noted. Invitations are pouring in.” He started a stack of them to one side while he flipped through the mail.

One letter received more than a passing glance. He handed it to her, and continued with the rest.

She held the letter, but only looked at him. His expression had cleared. There was absolutely nothing in him that she could see to indicate things were amiss. Yet his displeasure was like a mist escaping his soul.

This is what he meant,
she realized.
We all possess this perception with our intimates.
He was only unusual in that he also did with strangers and casual acquaintances.

He was not nearly as odd as he thought. She would explain that to him. It would not change what he experienced, but he might find it good to know just how much in common he had with other people.

“Aren't you going to read it, Leona?”

“Of course.” She turned her attention to the letter. The bright day instantly lost its innocence.

Lady Lynsworth had written.

A sad note sounded inside Leona's heart. It so affected her that she could not read the words in front of her eyes. She knew, just knew, that the letter meant the end of this idyll. The man across the table knew it too.

She read the letter. Lady Lynsworth expressed excitement and gratitude. Tong Wei had worked wonders with Brian. So much that Tong Wei would be returning to London in two days. The letter closed with a long
paragraph of heartfelt relief and declarations of eternal friendship.

Another letter suddenly appeared on the table in front of her.

“That is an invitation to a county assembly next week,” Christian said. “Would you like to go?”

The invitation was to her specifically. He held an identical one in his own hand.

“Is this appropriate? To invite your paramour?”

“They are inviting my houseguest. As for your relationship to me—This house is very big, the servants are very discreet, the gossip cannot be proven, and I am Easterbrook.”

She held the two letters. Once more he was allowing her to make a decision. Only there were times when a person could not ignore the world and choose to follow her heart.

The confusion returned, more horrible than her first night in Aylesbury. She resented Lady Lynsworth for writing, even if it had been in response to her own letter sent her first day here. She did not want her obligations interfering with the closeness she experienced with Christian.

She closed her eyes and immediately the intimacy bathed her, just remembering it. The perfect silence as they lay together—the freedom they shared and the way her heart swelled in the best way while she lay in his arms. She had tasted rare emotions here, and she believed that he joined her in them. He could be both Easterbrook and Edmund if he wanted. He did not have to hide the storms in his soul all the time.

She looked up and found him watching her.

He reached and took her hand. He held it for a few moments. Then he tugged gently. Her body rose in response to the silent command. He drew her around the table and settled her on his lap.

He knew how to obscure the confusion. He knew how to seduce her away from all thoughts. She surrendered quickly. She wanted to forget for a while longer that of course this would not last. Except she did not entirely forget. Her throat burned even while her passion soared.

He stripped off her nightdress and turned her so she faced him. Her legs dangled and her thighs flanked his waist. He loosened his trousers, lifted her, and lowered her so they were joined. He teased her breasts until she swayed in a rhythm of desperate need.

It took a long while for her to find fulfillment. The sorrow wanted to intrude. He waited for her, and subdued his own ferocity to the sweet longing that imbued this morning's pleasure.

There was no cataclysm this time. The peace broke in her slowly, releasing a stream of bliss. She held his head and shoulders in a wrapping embrace so his breaths warmed her chest. She accepted everything her heart and soul experienced, even the ache flowing within the beauty and purity of their intimacy.

It occurred to him, as his mind cleared, that he might put off the reckoning forever if his body did not betray him.

God knew he was trying. They were back in bed and the breakfast remained uneaten. He had used pleasure
as ruthlessly with her as he ever had, to defeat the reminder of her responsibilities that had intruded with that damned letter.

He still floated between oblivion and the world, entwined with her. It was much like the state achieved in meditation, only his self did not disappear. Instead his consciousness filled the dark peace. And, it appeared, another's self could be there too.

Not only her self, but her essence. Her worries. Her sadness. In these moments of serenity, he knew her better than he had ever known anyone, even himself.

He guessed what was coming even before she withdrew into herself. He sensed her retreat, and knew.

“I need to return to London, Christian.” She spoke quietly, right near his ear.

“No, you do not.”

“I would be vexed by the commanding way you said that if I were not so sated. I have little will for this argument now. You knew I would not.”

She still embraced him. Outside the window he could hear the gardeners toiling away. Had she been correct about that? Did the master's visit give them purpose?

“Nothing is being accomplished here,” she said.

“I would say a great deal is being accomplished here. You are learning enough about pleasure to last a lifetime.”

“I do not need reminders that it might have to.” Her embrace loosened. She rose up on her arms so she could see his face. “Lady Lynsworth writes that Tong Wei will be back in London in two days. I will be safe
in town with him there. I no longer have an excuse to dally here.”