Season Of Secrets

‘As you wish, my lord.’ Her lashes lowered with a demureness Adam viewed with suspicion.

‘It is indeed as I wish.’ He scowled, adding, as she made no further comment, ‘Goodnight, Mrs Leighton.’

‘My lord.’ She nodded without so much as glancing up.

Adam gave her one last irritated glance before entering the house, pausing only long enough to hand his hat and cloak to the patiently waiting Jeffries, before striding down the hallway to his study without so much as a second glance.

Where, Adam sincerely hoped, he would not be haunted by any further lascivious thoughts about the widowed Mrs Elena Leighton.

Chapter Five

‘I believe there has been some sort of mistake…’ Elena viewed with consternation the brightly coloured materials the seamstress had laid out on the chaise in the bedchamber for her approval. They were predominantly green and blue, but there was also a cream silk and a lemon, all with matching lace.

Mrs Hepworth was aged perhaps thirty and prettily plump, that plumpness shown to advantage in a gown of sky blue in a highwaisted style that perfectly displayed her excellence as a seamstress. ‘Mrs Standish was quite specific in her instructions concerning which materials I should bring with me for your approval, Mrs Leighton.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, yes, I am very sure of Mrs Standish’s instructions, Mrs Leighton,’ the seamstress confirmed cheerfully.

And Mrs Standish, as Elena knew, had received her instructions from the infuriating Lord Hawthorne…

‘Come,’ Adam instructed distractedly as he concentrated on the figures laid out in the ledger before him. The study door opened, then was softly closed again, followed by a lengthy silence. So lengthy that Adam was finally forced to look up beneath frowning brows, that frown easing slightly as he saw a flushed and obviously discomforted Elena Leighton standing in front of his wide mahogany desk. ‘Yes…?’

She moistened her lips. ‘I am not disturbing you, my lord?’

‘I believe you have used the wrong tense, Mrs Leighton—you have obviously already interrupted me,’ he drawled pointedly as he leant back in his chair to look across at her.

He had seen Amanda only briefly these past two days, and her governess not at all, having been kept busy dealing with the myriad of paperwork involved in running the estate. He frowned now as he saw the governess was still wearing one of those unbecoming black gowns that so infuriated him. ‘Has Mrs Standish not yet engaged the services of a seamstress—?’

‘That is the very reason I am here, my lord,’ she rushed into speech. ‘I fear there has been some sort of mistake. The seamstress brought with her materials that are more suited to—to being worn by a lady than a—a child’s governess.’

Adam arched one dark brow. ‘And is that child’s governess not also a lady?’

‘I—well, I would hope to be considered as such, yes.’ Elena looked more than a little flustered. ‘But the materials are of the finest silks and of such an array of colours, when I had been expecting—I had expected—’

‘Yes?’

She bit her lip. ‘I had thought to be wearing serviceable browns, with possibly a beige gown in which to attend church on Sundays.’

Adam gave a wince at the thought of this woman’s ivory skin against such unbecoming shades. ‘That would not do at all, Mrs Leighton.’ His top lip curled with displeasure. ‘Brighter colours, a deep rose, blues and greens, are more suited to your colouring, with perhaps a cream for Sundays.’

Exactly the colours, Elena realised, that the plump Mrs Hepworth had just laid out for her approval.

‘And I am not a churchgoer,’ Adam continued drily, ‘but you may attend if you feel so inclined.’

‘But is it not your duty to attend as—?’ Elena broke off abruptly, aware she had once again almost been inappropriately outspoken in this man’s presence. Inappropriate for the widowed Mrs Elena Leighton, that was. Which, considering she had not set sight on, nor heard sound of Adam Hawthorne these past two days, she probably should not have done.

‘You were saying, madam?’

‘Nothing, my lord.’ It really was not her place to rebuke him for not attending church, even if she knew her grandfather had made it his habit to always attend the Sunday service. Not because he was particularly religious, but because he maintained that conversation afterwards was the best way to mingle with and learn about the people who lived and worked on his estate.

‘This reticence is not what I have come to expect from you, Mrs Leighton,’ he drawled mockingly.

‘No. Well…’ She pursed her lips as she thought of the past two days, the time that had elapsed since she had last irritated him with her outspokenness. ‘Perhaps I am finally learning to practise long-overdue caution in my conversations with you, my lord.’

Adam stared at her in astonishment for several seconds before he suddenly burst out laughing. A low and rusty sound, he acknowledged self-derisively, but it was, none the less, laughter. ‘Did you tend to be this outspoken when you were employed by the Bamburys?’ He continued to smile ruefully.

‘I do not understand.’

Adam knew Lord Geoffrey Bambury slightly, from their occasional clashes in the House in the past, and knew him as a man who believed totally in the superiority of the hierarchy that made up much of society; as such Adam did not see him as a man who would suffer being rebuked by a servant, which the other man would most certainly have considered Elena Leighton’s role to be in his own household.

He shrugged. ‘I merely wondered if I was the exception to the rule as the recipient of this…honesty of yours, or if it is your usual habit to say exactly what is on your mind?’

‘Oh, I do not believe I would go as far as to say I have done that, my lord—oh.’ She grimaced. ‘I meant, of course—’

‘I believe I may guess what you meant, Mrs Leighton,’ Adam said. ‘And as such, I should probably applaud your efforts at exercising some discretion, at least.’

‘Yes. Well.’ Those blue-green eyes avoided meeting his amused gaze.

‘You were about to tell me my religious duty, I believe?’ he prompted softly.

Too softly, in Elena’s opinion; she really did seem to have adopted the habit of speaking above her present station in life to this particular gentleman! Perhaps, on this occasion because she was still slightly disconcerted by the sound and sight of his laughter a few minutes ago…

He had informed her only three evenings ago that he found very little amusement in anything, and yet just now he had laughed outright. Even more startling was how much more handsome, almost boyish, he appeared when he gave in to that laughter.

She swallowed before speaking. ‘Of course I was not, my lord. I just—I merely wondered if attending the local church would not be of real benefit to you, in terms of meeting and talking with the people living on your estate and the local village?’

‘Indeed?’ The suddenly steely edge to his tone was unmistakable.

Elena felt the colour warming Her cheeks. ‘Yes. I—I only remark upon it because I know it was Lord Bambury’s habit to do so.’ Her grandfather and Lord Bambury had discussed that very subject over dinner one evening at Sheffield Park…

Adam raised dark brows over cold grey eyes. ‘And you are suggesting I might follow his example?’

Her cheeks burned at his icy derision. ‘Perhaps we should return to the subject of the materials for my uniform, my lord?’

‘What uniform?’ He looked at her blankly.

Elena’s eyes widened. ‘Did you not say two days ago that it was your wish for me to wear a uniform whilst I am attending Amanda?’

He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘I do not recall ever using the word “uniform” when I made the request for you to wear less sombre clothing in future.’

‘But—’ Elena frowned, thinking back to that conversation when they had arrived at Hawthorne Hall. ‘I assumed…’

He gave a tight smile. ‘It is never wise to make assumptions, Mrs Leighton.’

When it concerned this gentleman, obviously not. ‘So it was your intention all along to supply me with new, prettier gowns, rather than simply a uniform?’

‘Yes.’ There was no mistaking the challenge in his monosyllabic reply.

Elena drew in a sharp breath. ‘And is this—would this be your way of—of circumventing my earlier objections about this matter?’

‘It would, yes.’

Elena clenched her fists tightly to rein in her frustration as Adam Hawthorne continued to look up at her calmly, one eyebrow raised in mocking—and infuriating!—query. ‘In that case…perhaps I might ask something of you in return?’

That dark brow rose even higher. ‘In return for what, madam?’

‘In return for my making no further objections to the procuring of new gowns for me to wear.’ In truth, Elena’s heart had leapt in excitement earlier just at sight of those wonderful colours and delicious fabrics. True, she should out of respect for the recent death of her grandfather insist upon retaining her mourning clothes, but having already worn black for her mother for half a year, and then greys and dull purple for the rest of the year, with only a matter of months to enjoy wearing brighter colours, her youth and vivacity now chafed at thoughts of having to wear the sombre clothing any longer. Especially when she thought of those beautiful coloured silks and exquisite lace draped on the chaise in her bedchamber…

‘In return for?’ Adam felt incredulous. ‘You make it sound as if you are the one doing me a service rather than the other way about?’

She arched a dark brow. ‘And am I not?’

Adam’s lids narrowed. Could this young woman possibly know how much he wished to see her in something other than those unbecoming black gowns she habitually wore? Or preferably in nothing at all!

He drew in a sharp breath. ‘You are being presumptuous again, madam.’

‘If that is so, then I apologise.’ She looked flustered again. ‘I am merely—I only wished to—’ She broke off to gather herself and tried again, more calmly. ‘Several days ago you asked for my help, for suggestions in how you might deal better with your daughter. It is Amanda’s dearest wish to own her own pony and to learn to ride it, my lord.’

Adam stared at her, not sure that he had heard her correctly. Not sure he had ever met anyone quite like Elena Leighton before. ‘Let me see if I understood your terms correctly?’ he spoke slowly. ‘You are willing to accept the new gowns, without fuss, if I agree to buying Amanda a pony and allowing her to learn to ride?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Adam looked perplexed as he sat forwards. ‘But did you not just say exactly that?’

Elena’s chin rose determinedly. ‘I did say that it is Amanda’s dearest wish to own her own pony and learn to ride, yes. It is also my suggestion that you should be the one to teach her.’ The idea had come to her after those days of travelling into Cambridgeshire, when she had noticed that Amanda seemed the most attentive to the scenery outside when there were horses to be seen grazing in the fields. Several minutes’ casual conversation with her charge had revealed Amanda’s deep love of equines and her secret yearning to own a horse or pony of her own so that she might learn to ride.

The second part of Elena’s suggestion—an inspired one, she had thought!—arose from her conversation with her employer in which he had asked for her help in finding ways of taking more of an interest in his young daughter’s life. The stunned look on his face now would seem to suggest he had not meant that request to be taken quite so literally as this! ‘Would it not be a perfect way for you to spend more time with Amanda, whilst also doing something she would enjoy?’

Adam was starting to wonder if he had not seriously underestimated this young woman, if he had not been fooled, both by her widow’s weeds and her demur demeanour during those first few days in his employ, into thinking that she was both complacent and obliging.

Their last few conversations together had revealed her as being neither of those things!

He stood up to move around the desk until he was able to lean back against it, knowing a certain inner satisfaction as he noted her discomfort at his proximity. At the same time as he recognised, and appreciated, the way in which she remained standing exactly where she was, despite that discomfort, as testament to her spirited nature. ‘Do you ride yourself, Mrs Leighton?’

She gave him a quick glance before as quickly glancing away again, a blush to her cheeks. ‘Why do you ask?’

The reason Adam asked was because the more time he spent in this woman’s company, the more convinced he became that there was something about her, an inborn ladylike elegance and a certain self-confidence, which did not sit well with her role as paid governess to a young girl.

She had also had no difficulty whatsoever in recognising that the seamstress had brought with her the finest silks for her approval, as Adam had instructed, rather than the inferior ones which might normally have been requested in such circumstances. Adam seriously doubted that most employers would ever buy expensive silks for a woman who was a member of their household staff. Unless that woman was also his mistress…

Of course he knew nothing of Elena Leighton’s life before her employment with the Bamburys, so she could have been the daughter of an aristocrat, who had eloped with her soldier husband, for all Adam knew of that situation; he could certainly more easily believe that to be this elegantly lovely woman’s history than he could see her as having been the daughter of an impoverished vicar or a shopkeeper!

He looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Do I need to give a reason in order to ask a question of one of my household staff?’

‘No. Of course you do not.’ The colour deepened in her cheeks—as if she had once again briefly forgotten that was now her place in life? he wondered. ‘But to answer your question—yes, I have ridden since I was a child, my lord. I only thought this might be the perfect opportunity in which you might give pleasure to Amanda, whilst at the same time allowing you to spend more time with her.’

Adam’s mouth twisted derisively. There was definitely something about this young woman—her background before she married Private Leighton?—which Adam found himself becoming more and more interested in knowing.

That, in itself, was unexpected…

His brief marriage to Fanny had succeeded in revealing all too clearly the many vagaries of human nature to him—the lies, the greed, the utter selfishness—until his own character, out of self-protection perhaps, had become that of the true cynic, to the extent that Adam rarely saw good in people any more—most especially the female of the species.

For whatever reason, Elena Leighton remained a mystery to him, yet at the same time there was a burning honesty about her, a determination, a desire to right injustice—such as she perceived his own lack of interest in Amanda to be. It was so at odds with the selfishness Adam had come to believe to be the motivation behind every human action—even his own, to a great extent, an example being that he had dragged his daughter and her companion off to the wilds of Cambridgeshire, in the middle of the Season, with the intention of dealing with matters on the estate, but also for the purpose of escaping the matchmaking machinations of his own grandmother!

Yes, he had become both selfish and cynical these past six years. And yet…And yet this little governess had brought something to life in him that was neither of those things, a desire not to act in his own interest, but instead for the pleasure of others. A desire to please her that had nothing to do with the physical attraction he felt towards her…

Adam straightened abruptly before moving back round his desk and sitting down behind it, his tone cool and controlled when at last he spoke. ‘The seamstress will think you have forgotten about her.’

In truth, Elena had forgotten that lady’s presence upstairs in her bedchamber during this past few minutes’ conversation. Indeed, she had forgotten everything but the disturbing gentleman who now looked across the desk at her so disdainfully. A gentleman who suddenly looked so very different to the handsomely boyish one who had burst into spontaneous laughter only minutes earlier…

‘And Amanda’s pony and riding lessons?’

His mouth thinned. ‘I will see what can be arranged.’

Elena’s heart sank in disappointment as she turned to leave, inwardly knowing that any ‘arrangements’ Adam Hawthorne chose to make about Amanda’s riding lessons were unlikely to include him.

‘And, Mrs Leighton…?’

She turned back slowly, her expression wary. ‘Yes?’

He sighed his exasperation. ‘You have a look on your face like that of a beast in fear of being whipped!’

Elena stiffened in outrage. ‘I trust that is not the case?’

‘It was not a personal threat, madam, but a figure of speech!’ Adam scowled, knowing he had once again been wrong-footed by this exasperating woman.

‘Then it was an exceedingly unpleasant one,’ she protested.

Adam gritted his back teeth together so tightly he feared they might snap out of his jaw, knowing he should not have delayed her departure from his study, but let her return upstairs to the attentions of the seamstress. And he would have done so, if not for the look of disappointment on her face after he had dismissed both her and her request that he be the one to teach Amanda to ride.

He took a steadying breath. ‘I believe you take delight in misunderstanding me!’

She raised dark brows. ‘I assure you, I take no delight at all in imagining you—or, indeed, anyone else—whipping an innocent beast of any kind.’

‘I merely said—’ Adam rose to his feet once again to round the desk with a sudden burst of frustrated energy before grasping her by the slenderness of her shoulders and shaking her slightly to emphasise his next words. ‘I have never been a party to whipping a woman, man, nor beast, damn it!’

‘I am glad to hear it.’ Her voice had softened huskily.

Bringing Adam to an awareness of the fact that he still had hold of her by the shoulders, that he could feel the delicacy of her bones through the thin material of her black gown, the soft pads of his thumbs actually touching the silky softness of the flesh just above the ivory swell of her breasts…

And it was very silky skin, so soft and smooth as Adam lowered his gaze to watch as he gave in to the temptation to run the pads of his thumbs caressingly over that delectable flesh, his hands appearing dark and very big against that delicate and unblemished ivory.

Standing this close to Elena, he could once again smell lemons, and something lightly floral, the top of her dark head barely reaching his shoulders, her figure slender in any case, but appearing more so when measured against his own height and breadth. Even the firm swell of her breasts, above the scooped neckline of her gown, was delicately tempting rather than voluptuous.

Damn it, he should have stayed seated behind his desk, safely removed from that temptation! Should never have—His gaze became riveted on the full pout of Elena’s mouth as she ran the moist tip of her tongue nervously across her lips whilst looking up at him from between silky dark lashes.

‘My lord…?’

Adam drew in a deep, controlling breath even as he closed his eyes in an effort not to look at those now moist lips. Moist and utterly kissable lips. ‘Do not—Elena…!’ he groaned huskily in defeat as he opened his eyes and saw she had now caught her bottom lip between tiny, pearly-white teeth.

Her eyes widened slightly, those long, dark lashes framing those blue-green orbs, her throat moving when she swallowed as Adam slowly began to draw her closer towards him. ‘My lord…?’ she whispered again.

‘Adam,’ he encouraged gruffly.

Elena would have protested his request for such informality—if he had not chosen that moment to draw her closer still before lowering his head and she felt the gentle, intimate touch of his lips against the curve of her throat.

Surprisingly warm and sensuous lips, considering how cold and abrupt this man so often was. Instead of the fear and recoil that she might have been expected to feel, after Neville’s harsh treatment of her, Elena relaxed into the safety of Adam Hawthorne’s arms, safe in the knowledge that he was not a man to ever use force on any woman.

It was at once a surprise and yet the most thrilling experience of her lifetime, to be held by and touching Adam so intimately, and to feel the warmth of his breath heating her flesh, even as his lips tasted and caressed the slender column of her throat, the gentle bite of his teeth on her earlobe causing her to tremble as her breath hitched in her throat.

Her breasts became full, the tips full and sensitive, as those warm lips trailed along the line of her jaw before finally claiming her parted mouth in a deep and searching kiss that caused the heat to course through her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, settling at that secret, intimate place between her thighs. Elena’s head was swirling, thought impossible, denial even more so as Adam’s hands moved down from her shoulders to encircle her waist as he crushed her against him, his lips even more fiercely demanding against her own.

Then, just as suddenly, his mouth was wrenched away as he put her firmly apart from him before releasing her. Elena stumbled slightly as she attempted to regain her balance on legs that seemed to have all the substance of jelly, her lips feeling bruised and swollen, her cheeks flushed, breasts full and aching inside the bodice of her gown.

Elena blinked several times as she attempted to focus on Adam, only to step back in alarm as she found herself looking into the hard grey chips of ice that were his eyes.

‘That was a mistake on more levels than I care to contemplate,’ he rasped harshly, his face all sharp and disapproving angles, the tousled darkness of his hair the only indication that moments ago this man had kissed her, as Elena had kissed him back, and her fingers had become passionately entangled in his thick raven locks.

‘A mistake…?’ She felt a sharp tightening in her chest almost akin to pain, knowing that she felt the opposite, that kissing Adam had been the most wonderful of pleasures, more delicious than she had ever dared to hope a kiss ever could be. A kiss so unlike the ones her cousin had forced upon her—

No!

There were some things Elena could not—would not think about.

‘On so many, many levels,’ Adam repeated grimly as he saw the way in which her face had paled.

No doubt in reaction to the realisation that her employer had just kissed her with an intimacy and passion totally unacceptable to her, or the disparity in their social positions. Not that the raging of his libido cared one way or the other about that, but Adam must!

‘For which you have my heartfelt apology,’ he added, mortified with himself. ‘I do not know—it was not my intention—it will not happen again,’ he vowed.

At least, Adam would do what he could to ensure that it did not happen again! In truth, he was not sure how it had happened a first time…

There had been perhaps a dozen or so women in his life since Fanny died, women he had spent a few hours of intimacy with and never seen again. Beautiful as Elena might be, for him to have stepped over that line, for him to not only have felt desire for one of his own servants, but to have acted upon it, was totally unacceptable to him. Quite how he was going to feel, to react to her, once she had ceased wearing these unbecoming gowns, he dare not think. With decency and restraint, it was to be hoped. But—

‘You were about to say something earlier as I began to leave the room…?’

Adam scowled as he tried to remember what she was referring to, his mind and body both still dominated by only one thought: his desire for her.