Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (12 page)

For that kindness alone, Eulogy could have kissed him.

“That’s…that’s wonderful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

A tender smile flickered across Huntley’s lips. “My pleasure.”

The noise drifted into the distance, aware only of Huntley, the sculpted plains of his face and a pressing need to kiss him. Silence stretched between them, and then a soft smile tipped the corners of Huntley’s lips that made Eulogy’s toes curl.

“We’ve seen what we to see. This place is ridiculously busy. Let’s go.” His voice rumbled.

Eulogy trembled, startled by the undisguised desire in his eye. She nodded.

They got halfway across the gallery, when a cut-glass voice, rose above the hubbub.

“Jack Huntley? Surely, you aren’t leaving us already?”

Eulogy felt Jack’s muscles tense, and turned round to see a sharp-faced blonde bearing down on them.

“Jack Huntley, you are so selfish, it quite breaks my heart.” The blonde’s ample bosom heaved up and down, barely restrained by a too-small bodice. “Fancy ignoring me like that! Aren’t you going to introduce your…friend?” Sneering blue eyes regarded Eulogy’s home-made gown.

“Miss Cartwright, I assure you I wasn’t ignoring you but merely failed to see you in the crush.”

“Oh how formal you’ve become. Last time we danced, I recall it was ‘Melissa’.” Miss Cartwright’s voice grew shrill. “Instead you favor…a friend. Aren’t you going to introduce her?”

In that moment Eulogy saw herself with this stranger’s eyes: an outsider, an interloper in the ton and she always would be. Even if Devlin acknowledged her the ton was more than bloodlines, but about fitting in, influence, manners and prestige. Perhaps, she reflected, that was why Devlin wished her gone, so as not to embarrass him. But Huntley spoke, and Eulogy dragged her thoughts back to the present.

“Miss Cartwright, may I introduce Miss Foster.”

“Charmed, to be sure.”

“Likewise.”

“Is this your first season, Miss Foster? Only I would have recalled such a rival for Mr. Huntley’s affections.”

“Yes. No…well…I mean…”

“Half the Mama’s in the ton are out for your blood.”

Jack squared his shoulders. “Miss Foster is the friend of a colleague and I promised to show her around London.”

“Very noble.”

“Not at all. Now, I was escorting Miss Foster to her carriage. The noise, you understand, and press of people.”

“Of course. So daunting for a country girl.”

“That’s enough, Miss Cartwright!”

Homesickness threatened Eulogy’s composure. For all her venom, Miss Cartwright was right. Fresh from the country in home sewn muslin, she didn’t belong here. Melissa Cartwright, with her blonde hair, blue eyes and brocade gown was a creature of Huntley’s realm and she the intruder.

“Please, I would like to go.”

Huntley nodded and made their excuses.

As they walked away, Eulogy felt Melissa’s gaze biting into her shoulder and shuddered. Huntley leant his head close to hers.

 “You mustn’t mind Miss Cartwright. She’s been sweet on me for as long as I can remember.”

Eulogy swallowed hard. “But she’s right. You shouldn’t be escorting me, especially without a chaperone. I’m beneath you. People will make assumptions and not good ones.”

“You are the model of an eminent artist who I sponsor. That alone is sufficient reason to escort you.”

So it was true! Huntley saw her as a business investment nothing more. The disappointment was crushing.

“Miss Cartwright despises me, because I’m not wealthy, or a lord’s daughter. That’s how the ton works.” The irony stuck in her craw. “As a doctor’s daughter, I am nothing.” She said it as a statement, an observation of the strangeness of her situation.

Huntley glanced at her. “To Miss Cartwright wealth, power and position are everything. But that is the ton and where I make my living.”

All became clear. Huntley could never care for her, because she was beneath him. If only he knew the truth! Devilment tickled her lips, the temptation to confess her secret and watch his reaction, but she suppressed the urge. She had promised Devlin and would not go back on her word.

Once gained, the sanctuary of the carriage was short lived. For all her anxiety to leave, Eulogy had quite forgotten she would be alone with Huntley in a confined space. He reclined nonchalantly against the leather upholstery from cleft chin to wide shoulders, from guarded eyes to broad chest, every inch undeniably male and it left her breathless. Huntley mistook her agitation.

“If it’s any comfort, Miss Cartwright is jealous and that’s why she was vile.” His eyes searched hers. With a rush of heat, she remembered that kiss in the parlor. His firm skin over iron muscle, the press of his lips against hers. A flutter of desire woke in her belly.

“Feeling any better?”

“Still a little heady, it was so very stuffy in there.”

“Indeed, let me lower the window.”

A blast of air reeking of rotting vegetables and coal dust made them both splutter.

“Hmmm, perhaps less is more after all.”

Covering her mouth, Eulogy laughed. Huntley arched a dark brow.

“You are bewitching when you smile.”

A pulse throbbed in her neck, but before she could frame a reply Huntley yelped.

“Damn it.” He set to rubbing his eye.

“Don’t rub, it’ll only make matters worse.”

Like a bad tempered bear, Huntley rubbed harder.

“Let me see.”

Eulogy slid across to sit beside him.

“Look to the left….”

He yielded, Eulogy faced a befuddling wall of masculinity that addled her senses. After commanding her shaking hand to be steady, she angled Jack’s chin to the light.

 “Keep still!”

So close now, she noticed gold threads running in the corolla of dark mossy green eyes now regarding her like a hungry lion. She fumbled for a handkerchief and twisted the corner into a point.

“Look up.” The warm scent of him almost unhinged her. “I see it! A tiny coal smut, not a fearsome splinter at all.”

Jack winced as she dabbed the linen against his eyeball.

“There. I have it!”

But in the moment of triumph, as Eulogy congratulated herself on withstanding his attraction, the carriage lurched aggressively, rocking wildly on its leaf springs. Eulogy scrambled for a hand hold as strong arms grazed her waist, pressing her tight against an unyielding chest.

“Steady, sweeting, I have you.”

The carriage lurched to a halt, amidst a barrage of curses from outwith. Eulogy felt far from safe, captive in Huntley’s arms, she could feel his pounding heart against her ribs.

“What happened?”

“At a guess some idiot ran into the road.”

A deal of swearing and cursing outside substantiated Jack’s theory as the carriage moved off again.

Eulogy waited for Huntley to release her. It felt good to be held. Within the security of those strong arms, she sighed. When it was just the two of them, everything fell into place. Huntley shifted position, loosening one arm to stroke her back, slowly, shyly, as if gentling a flighty horse. She glanced up. His expression made her bones as weak as honey. He had the look of a starving man who had found his next meal.

“Are you hurt?” His deep voice cracked.

She shook her head.

“I’m glad.”

“You can let me go now.”

Neither moved.

“I think not.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because you like being held. And I like holding you.” His hand lifted her chin, a strong thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The rational part of her mind screamed in objection, but there was something in his expression that held her.

“Miss Foster…Eulogy…” Jack lent closer, his hot breath against her cheek. “I would very much like to kiss you.”

At that moment, Eulogy wanted nothing more.

“May I?”

A strangled sob caught in her throat as, despite her better judgment, she nodded.

He leaned forward and his lips found the hollow just below her ear. He fluttered soft kisses on the tender skin. Tenderly, he addressed the angle of her jaw, feathering kisses up across her cheek. Eulogy’s lips burnt for his touch, as his male warmth and the press of his arm around her waist made her giddy and when his lips found hers, rational thought eluded her.

After the kiss in the parlor, Eulogy expected his attention to be rough and bruising, which made this tenderness all the more potent. His lips soft, nudged and nibbled at her lower lip, until her innards turned to jelly. She responded with a groan, snaking her arm behind his head to pull him close. A great dam of longing unleashed itself, she needed Jack Huntley as she needed air. He teased her lips apart, exploring the sensitive entrance to her mouth, setting her nerves on fire and turning her body liquid. As he explored deeper, a deep ache of need throbbing between her legs.

His breathing came in heavy rasps, his body trembling. With a groan he broke away and Eulogy wondered if her forwardness was distasteful.

“Let me hold you.” Wrapping both arms more tightly around her, he smelt her hair. His jacket itched against her cheek and she lay still.

“Miss Foster, do you enjoy my company?”

“Yes.”

Jack swept her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss in the gloved palm, sending shafts of longing shooting up her forearm. The soft sensuality of his caress devastated her senses.

 Jack squeezed her hand, placing it demurely in her lap and covering it with his.

“Miss Foster, Eulogy, over the weeks I have developed a powerful attachment to you. I have tried to deny my feelings but cannot. Dare I hope that in some small way you feel the same?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “But that kiss gave you away. You desire me as I desire you.” Embarrassed, she made no denial.

“Eulogy, I wish to make you a proposition.”

Her cheeks flamed scarlet and the blood thundered in her ears. Had she not already been seated on Huntley’s lap, she might have fallen. Merciful heavens! She barely knew him. Dare she hope? Mrs. Featherstone seemed certain he held a tenderness for her. Her chest locked in an iron band and she quite forgot to breathe. Such was his gravitas that she half wondered if he were about to propose marriage.

“We are well suited. I hold you in high regard, and London would be a dull place without your company. Miss Foster, in short, I request you would do me the great honor of becoming… my mistress.”

At first the request made no sense. She understood the individual words, but they didn’t add up, the sentence flawed.

She choked out the words. “You want to make me your mistress?” She thumped her fist against his chest. “How dare you!”

Jack looked thunderstruck. “I thought you understood. A woman of your background and with my social standing you didn’t imagine I was about to propose!” He attempted a laugh as the horrible truth dawned. “But I care for you deeply, more than most men for their wives and wish to protect you.”

 Her world imploded, he saw her not as an equal but as a commodity; a woman to be bought, not even a brood mare but a hack, something to use for pleasure then be sold on.

Jack mistook her silence for indecision and ploughed on.

“As an experienced woman, I hope you take my offer in the spirit in which it is intended. As my mistress you would be given my protection, and I shall settle an annuity on you which would make you more independent than most married woman.”

Her head reeled. He thought her a whore. He thought her experienced with men! She felt sick. Even posing for Tristan’s painting she insisted on appropriate costume. Her nose glowed red with anger.

She snatched her hand away and looked him square in the eye.

“Sir, you are a hypocrite. You are worse than Melissa Cartwright. She openly despises me, whereas you treat me like a lady and then ask me to be your whore. What kind of woman do you think I am?” Steely anger glinted in her voice as she fought back tears. She grasped blindly at the handle of the moving carriage, fully intent on dismounting there and then.

Huntley blanched and grabbed at her arm. “My humble apologies, ma’am, I meant no offence by my remarks.”

“You assumed only a woman of easy virtue would be alone in the streets at night. Did it not occur you...” Despair bubbled up in her throat, choking off her words. That this gorgeous man thought what he did was injury enough, what had been said could not be undone, the disappointment bitter and falling into a chasm with no bottom. She could no longer pretend he meant nothing to her, and yet evidently this tender love was retuned by lust and nothing more. Defiant she opened her mouth to shame him, to reveal her secret and prove his assumptions wrong.

“The reason I came to London was to find…” The words died on her lips. He didn’t deserve an explanation. A man should respect and love her for herself, no matter what her rank. No, her parentage would stay her secret, her’s and Farrell’s, until she saw fit to do otherwise.