Disgrace And Desire

‘And what will you do now, sir?’

‘Oh, this and that. Become a gentleman farmer, perhaps.’

His response was cool, distant. If she had not seen that look of surprise and confusion in his face she would have thought him nothing more than a polite stranger. Inconsequential thoughts chased through her head: how dark his eyes were, fringed by long black lashes. She liked the way his hair curled about his ears. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through those glossy black locks, to stroke his lean cheek…The major was still speaking and Eloise had to drag her mind back to concentrate on his words.

‘I knew your late husband, my lady. We served together in the Peninsula and at Waterloo.’

‘Ah, yes.’ She gave her head a tiny shake as his words put her frivolous thoughts to flight. She must be serious now. ‘Of course—you wrote to me. I am sorry; I did not recognise your name at first. You were with him when he died.’ Her pleasure drained away. Instead of the laughter and chatter of a London drawing room she imagined the battlefield as Tony had described it to her, the pounding thunder of artillery, the shouts and screams of the soldiers. So much pain and violence.

‘My lady? I beg your pardon, I did not mean to arouse unpleasant memories.’

‘It would be unpardonable for any of us to forget, sir.’ She fixed her eyes upon him. ‘Why did you not tell me this last night?’

The major hesitated, then gave a rueful grin, dispelling his rather disapproving look and making him look suddenly much younger.

‘Last night I was taken by surprise. Our encounter was…unusual. I did not want to ruin the moment.’

So she had not dreamed it! He had felt it, too. Eloise found herself unable to look away as she recalled her dance with a stranger. Yes, it had been special, and slightly alarming. She had never felt such an attraction before. But she must be on her guard, she could not afford to lose her head. The major was speaking again and she twisted her hands together, trying to concentrate.

‘Your husband gave me a commission, to deliver to you certain items. I would like your permission to call, if I may?’

‘What? Oh, yes, yes, of course, Major.’

‘Thank you. Shall we say tomorrow morning, at ten, or is that too early?’ She gazed up at him, fascinated by the laughter lines around his mouth, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He was smiling at her now and she thought how wonderful it would be to stand with him thus all evening, letting his voice drift over her like a soft summer breeze…‘So, madam, shall we say ten?’

She blinked. ‘Um…yes. I mean, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. You have my direction—Dover Street.’ She swallowed. What was happening to her? She was not at all sure that she liked being so out of control. He was very striking, to be sure, but she had met many gentlemen equally good looking, so she did not think it could be his lean, handsome face that caused her emotions to riot. She needed to put a little distance between them so that she could consider these new and alarming sensations dispassionately.

Eloise dragged her mind back to what she had been doing before Mrs Renwick had brought the major to meet her. Oh, yes. She had come in search of Lord Berrow. It was important; she must put duty before pleasure.

‘Now the formalities are over,’ Major Clifton was saying, ‘may I—?’

She interrupted him as she spotted her quarry.

‘I beg your pardon, but I cannot talk now.’

‘Of course.’ He stood back. ‘Perhaps later…?’

‘Yes, perhaps.’ She summoned up her dazzling society smile but directed it at his neckcloth, afraid that if she met his eyes again her resolve would weaken. ‘Excuse me.’

She forced herself to walk away from him, hoping that his magnetism would fade if she put some space between them. Resolutely she fixed her eyes on the jovial-looking gentleman in a grey wig making his way towards the music room.

‘Good evening, Lord Berrow.’

The Earl turned his pale, slightly protuberant eyes towards her.

‘Lady Allyngham!’ he smiled and took her hand. ‘My dear, you are looking positively radiant!’ He hesitated. ‘But you have been in mourning. My lady wife sent you our condolences, did she not?’

She thought of the neat little letter she had received after Tony’s death, so obviously composed and written by a clerk.

‘You did, my lord, thank you. I was touched by your concern.’

He harrumphed and nodded.

‘Yes, well, least we could do, m’dear! Sad business. We lost so many fine men at Waterloo, did we not? But that’s all in the past now, and here you are, looking more beautiful than ever!’

‘I have been hoping to meet up with you, my lord.’

‘Have you now?’ He beamed at her. ‘Been very busy—government business.’ He puffed out his chest, swelling with self-importance. ‘Member of the Cabinet, you know.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Eloise. ‘I wanted to talk to you—that is, my lawyer has written several times now, about the land at Ainsley Wood.’

‘Has he? Well, no need to worry ourselves about that, m’dear. My steward is an excellent man. He will deal with everything.’

‘Actually, he will not,’ she replied, determined not to be put off. ‘He writes that he has no authority to sell…’

Lord Berrow waved his hand.

‘Yes, yes, we can discuss that later.’ He took her arm. ‘Come and sit with me, my dear, and we can listen to the soprano our hostess has brought in. She’s not quite Catalini, but I understand she is very good.’

Eloise realised it would be useless to press her case further at that moment. With a smile she allowed the Earl to guide her to the gilded chairs set out for the guests. Having found Lord Berrow, she was determined she would not leave him now until she had explained to him why she needed to purchase Ainsley Wood.

Jack leaned against the wall and watched Lady Allyngham. The tug of attraction was just as strong as it had been the night before. She felt it too, he was sure, but she had not tried to flirt with him. Quite the contrary, she had seemed eager to get away. He observed her now as she took Lord Berrow’s arm, smiling, turning her head to listen to the man as if he were the most interesting person she had ever met. No wonder all the gentlemen were enraptured. Alex Mortimer was on the far side of the room. He, too, was watching Lady Allyngham as she walked off with the Earl and did not seem the least perturbed. If he really was her lover then he must feel very sure of himself to allow her such freedom. Jack frowned. It demeaned Allyngham’s memory to have his widow flaunting herself in town in this way. But she had been discomposed when Jack had mentioned her husband, so perhaps she did have a conscience after all. He gave himself a mental shake. Enough of this: it was no business of his how Tony’s widow behaved.

Suddenly the noise and the chatter was grating on his nerves and he decided to leave. Once he had called at Dover Street tomorrow morning his mission would be complete and he need not see Eloise Allyngham again.

Chapter Two

Eloise sipped at her morning chocolate. Last night had not gone quite as planned. Lord Berrow had resolutely refused to discuss selling the land at Ainsley Wood. Despite all her efforts to charm the Earl the best she had achieved was his promise that he would talk to her when he was not quite so busy. She had had to be content with that, and when she left the Earl she had fallen into the clutches of Sir Ronald Deforge. She felt a certain sympathy for Sir Ronald. She knew him to be a widower and she thought perhaps he was lonely, but Sir Ronald with his pomaded hair and oily manner was all smug complacency, and less than twenty minutes in his company had her yawning behind her fan. Thankfully Alex rescued her and carried her off to supper before she had grown too desperate. And she had suffered another disappointment: Major Clifton had left early. Not that that mattered, she told herself, for he was calling upon her at ten o’clock.

It was her habit to breakfast early, no matter how late she had been out. While she nibbled at her freshly baked bread she looked through the morning’s post, putting aside the numerous invitations and letters to be answered and reading carefully the daily report from her steward at Allyngham. This morning there was one note at the bottom of the pile that caught her attention. She did not recognise the writing, and there was no hint of the sender. She put down her coffee cup and broke the seal.

The single sheet crackled as it unfolded, and as her eyes scanned the untidy black writing her cheeks grew pale. She summoned her butler.

‘Noyes, send a runner to Mr Mortimer. Ask him to join me, immediately, if you please!’

Alone again, she pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

She hoped Alex would appear soon. He had taken a house only a few doors away but for all she knew he might still be sleeping. Thankfully it was only a matter of minutes before she heard the bell jangling in the hall. Carefully folding the letter and putting it in her pocket, she made her way to the morning room.

Alex was waiting for her. His brows snapped together when she entered.

‘What is it, Elle? You are very pale—what has happened?’

Silently she pulled the letter from her pocket and held it out to him. He scanned it quickly and looked up.

‘Is this all there is?’

She nodded. He looked again at the letter.

‘I know your secret,’ he read. ‘Very cryptic.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you…do you think someone knows, about us?’

Alex smiled.

‘No names, no clues—someone is trying to frighten you, Elle. Some jealous wife or mistress, perhaps. Your return to town has put many noses out of joint.’

She spread her hands.

‘Why should anyone be jealous of me? I have not stolen any of their lovers.’

‘Not intentionally, but the gentlemen are singing your praises and laying their hearts at your feet.’

Her lip curled.

‘I do not give the snap of my fingers for any of them. Idle coxcombs!’

Alex laughed.

‘That is part of your attraction.’

She indicated the letter.

‘So what do you think it means?’

‘I have no idea.’ He turned the letter over. ‘There was nothing to say who sent it?’

‘No. Noyes told me one of the footmen found it on the floor of the hall this morning and put it with the post. Who would do this?’

‘Some idle prankster.’ Alex screwed the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire. ‘You should forget about it. I am sure it is nothing to worry about.’

She eyed him doubtfully and he took her hands, smiling down at her.

‘Truly, it is nothing.’

‘Major Clifton, my lady.’

Jack followed the footman into the morning room. Lady Allyngham turned to greet him, but not before he had seen Mortimer holding her hands. Damnation, what was the fellow doing here so early in the morning, did he live here?’

Setting his jaw, Jack made a stiff bow. Unperturbed, Alex Mortimer nodded to him before addressing Lady Allyngham.

‘I must go. I am going out of town this afternoon: I have business with my land agent in Hertfordshire which will take me a few days, I think.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Send a note if you need me, Elle. I can be here in a few hours.’

Jack watched the little scene, his countenance, he hoped, impassive, and waited silently until Alex Mortimer had left the room. There was no doubt that Mortimer and the lady were on the very best of terms. He had to remind himself it was none of his business.

‘What is it you wished to say to me, Major Clifton?’

Lady Allyngham’s softly musical voice recalled his wandering attention. She disposed herself gracefully into a chair and invited him to sit down.

‘Thank you, no,’ he said curtly. ‘This will only take a moment.’

‘Oh. I had hoped you might be able to tell me something of my husband.’

She sounded genuinely disappointed. He reached into his pocket.

‘Before he died, Lord Allyngham gave me these, and asked me to see that they were returned to you.’ He dropped the ring and locket into her hands. ‘I apologise that it has taken so long but I was in Paris until the summer, with the Army of Occupation, and I had given Lord Allyngham my word that I would bring them in person.’

She looked down at them silently.

Jack cleared his throat.

‘He asked me to tell you…to be happy.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

She placed the ring on her right hand. Jack remembered it had been a tight fit for Lord Allyngham: it had been a struggle to remove it, but now the signet ring looked big and cumbersome on the lady’s dainty finger. He watched her open the locket and stare for a long time at the tiny portraits. At last she said, ‘I had this painted for Tony when we first married. He would not let me accompany him when he went off to war, so I thought he might like it…’ Her voice tailed off and she hunted for her handkerchief.

Jack sat down.

‘He was a very courageous soldier,’ he said quietly. ‘We fought together in the Peninsula: he saved my life at Talavera.’

She looked up and he saw that her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

‘You knew him well, Major Clifton?’

He shrugged.

‘As well as anyone, I think. We drank together, fought together—he spoke very fondly of you, madam, and of Allyngham. I think he missed his home.’

‘His letters to me were very brief; he mentioned few of his fellow officers by name.’

‘He kept very much to himself,’ replied Jack.

She nodded, twisting her hands together in her lap.

‘He was a very private man.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Forgive me, Major Clifton. I know it is more than a year since Waterloo, but still…’ She drew a steadying breath. ‘How…how did he die?’

Jack hesitated. There was no easy way to explain.

‘Artillery fire,’ he said shortly. ‘A cannon ball hit him in the chest. It was very quick.’

Her blue eyes rebuked him.

‘How could that be? You said he had time to ask you to bring these things to me.’

He held her gaze steadily.

‘He was past any pain by then.’ He saw her eyes widen. The colour fled from her cheeks and she swayed slightly in her chair. He said quickly, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, I should not have told you—’

She put up her hand.

‘No, I wanted to know the truth.’ She closed the locket and placed it on the table beside her, then rose and held out her hand, dismissing him. ‘Thank you, Major. I am very grateful to you.’

Jack bowed over her fingers. He hesitated and found she was watching him, a question in her eyes.

‘Forgive me, ma’am, but…’ How the devil was he to phrase this?

‘What is it you wish to say to me, Major Clifton?’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady. Lord Allyngham having given me this commission, I feel an obligation to him. To his memory.’

‘What sort of obligation, Major?’

He shot a look at her from under his brows.

‘You know what people are saying, about you and Mortimer?’

She recoiled a little.

‘I neither know nor care,’ she retorted.

‘I would not have you dishonour your husband’s name, madam.’

Her eyes darkened angrily.

‘How dare you suggest I would do that!’

He frowned, annoyed by her disingenuous answer. Did she think him a fool?

‘But you will not deny that Mortimer is your lover—it is the talk of London!’

She glared at him, angry colour flooding her cheeks.

‘Oh, and gossip must always be true, I suppose!’

Her eyes darted fire and she moved forwards as if to engage with him. Jack could not look away: his gaze was locked with hers and he felt as if he was drowning in the blue depths of her eyes. She was so close that her perfume filled his head, suspending reason. A sudden, fierce desire coursed through him. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close and as her lips parted to object he captured them with his own. He felt her tremble in his arms, then she was still, her mouth yielding and compliant beneath the onslaught of his kiss. For a heady, dizzying instant he felt the connection. The shock of it sent him reeling with much the same effect as being too close to the big guns on the battlefield, but it lasted only for a moment. The next she was fighting against him and as sanity returned he let her go. She pushed away from him and brought her hand up to deal him a ringing slap across his cheek.

He flinched.

‘Madam, I beg your pardon.’

She stepped aside, clinging to the back of a chair as she stared at him, outraged.

‘Get out,’ she ordered him, her voice shaking with fury. ‘Get out now before I have you thrown out!’

‘Let me explain—’ Jack had an insane desire to laugh as he uttered the words. How could he explain the madness that had come over him, the all-encompassing, uncontrollable desire. Dear heaven, how could he have been so crass?

Eloise was frantically tugging at the bell-pull, her face as white as the lace around her shoulders.

‘Have no fear, my lady, I am leaving.’ With a stiff little bow he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, but as he closed the door behind him he had the impression of the lady collapsing on to the sofa and heard her first anguished sob.

Eloise cried unrestrainedly for several minutes, but such violence could not be sustained. Yet even when her tears had abated the feeling of outrage remained. She left the sofa and began to stride to and fro about the room.

How dare he abuse her in such a way! He had insinuated himself into her house and she had treated him with courtesy. How had he repaid her? First he had accused her of having a lover, then he had molested her as if she had been a common strumpet! She stopped her pacing and clenched her fists, giving a little scream of anger and frustration.

‘Such behaviour may be acceptable in Paris, Major Clifton, but it is not how a gentleman behaves in London!’

She resumed her pacing, jerking her handkerchief between her fingers. Rage welled up again, like steam in a pot, and with an unladylike oath she scooped up a little Sèvres dish from the table and hurled it into the fireplace, where it shattered with a most satisfying smash. The noise brought her butler hurrying into the room.

‘Madam, I beg your pardon, but I heard…’

The anxiety in his usually calm voice brought Eloise to her senses. She turned away and drew a deep breath before replying.

‘Yes, Noyes, I have broken a dish. You had best send the maid to clear it up: but tell her to be careful, the edges are sharp, and I would not like anyone to cut themselves because of my carelessness.’

When the butler had withdrawn Eloise returned to her chair. Her rage had subsided, but the outpouring of emotion had left her feeling drained and depressed. She could not deny that Major Clifton had some excuse for thinking that Alex was her lover. They had never made any attempt to deny the rumours and Eloise had been content with the situation. Until now.

She was shocked to realise how much Major Clifton’s disapproval had wounded her, and he had had the audacity to compound her distress by attacking her in that disgusting way. She bit her lip. No, she had to be honest: it was not his actions that had distressed her, but the shocking realisation that she had wanted him to kiss her. Even when her anger was at its height, some barely acknowledged instinct had made her move closer and for one brief, giddy moment when he had pulled her into his arms, she had blazed with a desire so strong that all other thoughts had been banished from her mind. Only the knowledge of her own inadequacy made her push him away.

She hung her head, wondering if Jack Clifton could tell from that one, brief contact that the Wanton Widow had never before been kissed?

Jack strode quickly out of Dover Street and back to his own lodgings, his mind in turmoil. Whatever had possessed him to behave in that way towards Eloise Allyngham? He might disapprove of her liaison with Mortimer but he had hardly acted as a gentleman himself. Scowling, Jack ran up the stairs and into his sitting room, throwing his cane and his hat down on to a chair.

‘Oho, who’s ruffled your feathers?’ demanded his valet, coming in.

Jack bit back a sharp retort. Bob had served with him as his sergeant throughout the war and was more than capable of giving him his own again. He contented himself by being icily civil.

‘Fetch me pen and ink, if you please, Robert, and some paper. And be quick about it!’

‘We are in a bad skin,’ grinned Bob. ‘Was the widow disagreeable?’

‘Damn your eyes, don’t be so impertinent!’ He rubbed his chin, scowling. ‘If you must know I forgot myself. I need to write an apology to the lady, and quickly.’

Jack rapidly penned his missive, sealed it and despatched Robert to deliver it to Dover Street.

The valet returned some twenty minutes later and handed him back his letter, neatly torn in two.

‘She wouldn’t accept it, Major.’

‘Damnation, I didn’t ask you to wait for a reply!’

‘No, sir, but I arrived at the house just as my lady was coming out, so she heard me tell that sour-faced butler of hers who the letter was from. She didn’t even bother to open it. Just took it from me and ripped it in half. Said if you thought she was the sort to accept a carte blanche you was very much mistaken.’ He grinned. ‘Seems you upset her right and proper.’

With an oath Jack crumpled the torn paper and hurled it into the fireplace. He would have to talk to her. Whatever her own morals—or lack of them—he was damned if he would have her think him anything less than a gentleman.

A few hours attending to her correspondence and a brisk walk did much to restore Eloise’s composure. She had derived no small satisfaction from being able to tear up Major Clifton’s letter and send it back to him. She thought it might be an apology, but she was determined not to accept it. The man would have to grovel before she would deign to notice him again! However, she could not quite forget his words and when she prepared to attend a party at Clevedon House that evening she decided upon a robe of dark blue satin worn over a gold slip and wore a tiny cap of fluted blue satin that nestled amongst her curls. She added a collar of sapphires and matching eardrops to lend a little lustre to the rather severe lines of the gown, but even so, she considered her appearance very suitable for a widow, and once she had fastened a gold lace fichu over her shoulders no one—not even a certain disagreeable major whom she was determined never to think about—could mistake her for anything other than a respectable widow.

She was a little nervous walking into Clevedon House without Alex by her side, but she hid her anxiety behind a smile as she sought out Lord Berrow. He gave her a quizzical look as she approached.

‘If you are come to talk to me about selling my land again, my dear, then you are wasting your time.’

Eloise laughed and tucked her hand in his arm.

‘Allow me at least to tell you why I want the land, sir.’

‘Very well.’ He gave her an avuncular smile. ‘No harm in my being seen with a pretty woman, eh? Come along, then. We will sit in this little alcove over here, out of the way. Now, what is it you want to say to me, ma’am?’

She conjured up her most winning smile.

‘I want to found a charitable institution as a memorial to my husband. You knew Anthony, Lord Berrow; you will remember how kind-hearted he was.’

‘Aye, a very generous man, and a good neighbour, too,’ nodded the Earl. ‘And he left no children.’ He shook his head. ‘Pity the Allyngham name will die out now.’

‘Yes, and the title, too, is lost.’

‘But everything else comes to you?’

‘Yes.’ Eloise sighed and gazed down at her lap. She put her left hand over the right, feeling the hard outline of her Tony’s ring upon her finger beneath the satin glove. ‘Being a soldier, my husband knew there was a strong possibility that he might die before me, and he saw to it that there would be no difficulties there. And we discussed doing something to help those less fortunate. It has given me something to think about during the past twelve months. I have spoken to the mayor of Allyngham and he has agreed my plans. We have set up a trust and I am giving a parcel of land for the building itself. However, when we came to look at the map there is a narrow stretch of your own land, sir, at Ainsley Wood, that cuts between the town and the proposed site. It is less than half a mile wide but without a road through it we will need to make a journey of several miles around the boundary.’