Just Another Lady (Xcite Romance) (6 page)

‘I apologise.’ Elinor’s voice wobbled a little. Forgive me, Lucius, for what I am about to say. ‘I am accustomed, you understand, to defending my husband. It feels most strange to be in a position where I need not do any such thing.’

Sir Hugo leaned against the wall. ‘Believe me, there is certainly no need to do so in my presence.’ His voice became gentler, though his fingers still stroked the flat edge of the knife. ‘Come, this is surely no terrifying ordeal; certainly it need not be. You never know, you might even enjoy yourself.’

‘Perhaps.’ Elinor wished she knew how to look coy; she looked up at Sir Hugo from under lidded eyes and hoped her expression was seductive enough. ‘Why do you not show me what you know? If you are as talented as you sound, I may very well take pleasure in it. I must confess that I have not enjoyed many sexual experiences with gentlemen before now.’ Which last was true enough: Elinor had not had the chance to experience more than one. If Sir Hugo chose to take her words with a different meaning, why, that was his prerogative. Lucius’s words came back to her: there is one area in which we are weaker than water. So help me, Lucius, she thought desperately; I hope you are right.

‘You are very easily persuaded,’ Sir Hugo said, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Elinor gave an insouciant shrug. ‘As you say, you are hardly suggesting something I am not accustomed to.’ She allowed her eyes to look him up and down. ‘And, indeed, you are certainly considerably more handsome than the majority of my conquests.’ She allowed a note of admiration to creep into her voice. A stroke of brilliance occurred to her: one which she thought might convince Sir Hugo more than anything else she had said so far. ‘And maybe,’ she murmured, coming closer to Sir Hugo and putting a hand on his arm, ‘if I please you well enough, you might consider finding a – a different reward for my original captor.’

He laughed, and Elinor thought with relief that her tactic had worked. He believed her willing to do anything with him in the hope that she would not then have to endure the grubby hands of “Ted”.

‘I might consider it,’ he acknowledged, a loathsome smile flickering at the corner of his lips. ‘If you are a very, very good girl.’ To Elinor’s relief, he reached up and placed the knife on the mantelpiece. Knowing she was watching, he smiled more broadly. ‘Don’t think about trying to reach it,’ he said coolly.

‘I won’t.’ Elinor looked up at the blade with an expression of anxiety which was by no means faked. If her plan for escape did not succeed, she had no doubt that the knife would be used on her. ‘Can’t we move a little further away from it?’ she pleaded, her fingers clinging to his arm as she edged away from the fireplace.

‘A nervous little thing, aren’t you?’ Sir Hugo said, but his voice was amused rather than angry.

He moved towards the chaise longue, but instead of sweeping her onto it, as Elinor had feared he would do, he pulled her into his arms as they stood. Her heart was beating fast within her breast, and there was a slight tremble in her fingers which she could not prevent.

‘I am but a woman,’ she said diffidently. ‘I do not like weaponry, you understand.’ Then, loathing herself even for saying it, ‘I am made for love-making, not violence.’ She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she said the words aloud. Whether she escaped with her chastity unsullied or not, she knew these moments would live in her mind, humiliatingly, for too long.

‘Quite so,’ said Sir Hugo.

He kissed her, and Elinor closed her eyes and thought a desperate apology to Lucius, that she should submit – indeed, to seem to like – these kisses from his enemy. Her breathing was ragged, not from passion, as Sir Hugo appeared to believe, but from fear. She knew what he intended to come next; she knew what she intended to come next. They were not the same. Nevertheless, she would need to make her move soon. Sir Hugo had started to unbutton her dress. She had given in to his kisses, and he seemed to believe that she welcomed them. Much longer, and the opportunity might be lost.

‘My Lord …’ Elinor’s voice sounded weak and unconvincing to herself, but apparently not to Sir Hugo. He looked up at her, his face pink with arousal, and looking in Elinor’s eyes like an over-dressed pig. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. She swallowed hard. ‘I …’

Without warning, she brought her knee up, sharply, against his groin, hearing her petticoats rip under the strain. If she had got this wrong, his punishment would be vicious indeed. But no. She had hit the spot. Sir Hugo doubled up as the pain gathered him in, and his grasp on Elinor’s dress loosened. She tugged herself away, leaving a scrap of the delicate silk still in his hand, and ran. Her original captor, to her relief, was not in sight as she dashed for the door. Sir Hugo had chosen his hidey-hole well. Elinor found herself in a part of London she knew not at all, but which was certainly one of the less salubrious places in which she had found herself. She knew she must look a sight: her dress ripped at the shoulder and dirty at the ankle, her hair trailing loose over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the quality of the materials she was wearing, she thought wearily, no one would believe her to be part of the ton. Even as it was, she suspected that people would presume the clothes stolen.

She took another look round, and realised she hoped they would think the clothes a robbery. Wherever-she-was was not a safe place for elegantly dressed ladies of the polite world. A sick feeling arose in her throat as she wondered whether she had escaped one horror only to be plunged into another. The two men on the far side of the road were staring at her – as she watched, one nudged his companion and said something that drew a ribald laugh.

Trying to ape a confidence she did not feel, Elinor slowed her pace to a purposeful walk, as if she knew precisely where she was headed and had no doubt of her ability to get there. She was relieved to see the men turn away.

Five minutes later, she was alone. And totally, utterly, lost. All the famous landmarks of London were invisible in this world of tumble-down warehouses and broken bricks. It was like a different world; and Elinor knew that whatever happened, she would be irrevocably changed by this long, frightening walk. She had thought she knew what poverty was when she and her mother had been struggling to survive in Carryleigh, but the grimness of what surrounded her now showed her that she had barely scratched the surface. Occasionally she caught sight of a few ragged children, playing games along the alleyways, the strong Cockney accent strange to her ears. A woman came right up to her, pawing at her clothes. Her breath smelt rankly of alcohol, and Elinor pulled away hastily.

‘It’s all right, my lovely,’ the woman croaked. ‘I only want to help you.’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Elinor said, disentangling herself as hastily as she could, and feeling a wave of guilt about her mistrust of the woman’s motives. Most likely the woman really did want to help – but what if she did not? ‘Thank you,’ she called again, louder, as she walked swiftly away.

‘Come back, lovely.’ The words drifted out to Elinor on the air, but she did not turn.

She walked further and further, pretending that the dampness of her eyes was due to the smoky surroundings and not to her own fear and tiredness. Darkness was coming, and Elinor had never been more afraid.

‘Mrs Crozier!’

Elinor froze to hear her name spoken in the refined accents of a gentleman. For a couple of heartbeats she feared that Sir Hugo Mansfield had discovered her; for a couple more, she wondered whether that might not be preferable to what she could face otherwise.

‘Elinor?’ the voice said, gentle and shocked.

It was a familiar tone, certainly, but it was not Sir Hugo. Elinor looked up to see Octavius Wootten, and almost flung herself into his arms.

‘Mr Wootten!’ She rubbed a grimy hand across her face. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘take me home.’

Elinor knew few gentlemen who would manage what Wootten did. He asked no questions of her, but led her out of the back streets until they found a Hansom. It was evident that the cab driver was not inclined to be so reserved, but a look in Wootten’s eye made him think twice about saying the words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he drove them in silence to the Crozier residence, and Wootten and Elinor were equally quiet. When the driver pulled up, Wootten helped Elinor down and paid him.

‘I’ll see you in,’ he said; the first words he had spoken to her since they got into the cab.

‘Thank you.’ Elinor wondered what he must think of her.

The footman opened the door, and recoiled as he saw his mistress, torn and bedraggled, with Octavius Wootten beside her.

‘Is your master in?’ Wootten asked calmly, as if he often experienced such situations.

‘Yessir,’ mumbled the footman, all in one word.

‘Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch him?’ The footman almost fell over himself in his hurry to get away. Wootten looked down at Elinor, and Elinor wondered again what he must be thinking.

‘Why were you there?’ she asked, realising all at once that she had never asked him. It had seemed like a miracle too incredible to be questioned.

‘It is near the workhouse. There was a governor’s meeting.’ Wootten’s expression was gentle. ‘I won’t ask the same of you, but I’ll ask you one thing.’

‘I owe you that,’ she said, unable to meet his gaze.

‘Talk to Lucius,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes.’ Elinor’s lower lip trembled, and she feared for a second that she might disgrace herself further by crying.

Wootten’s hand grasped her arm for a second. ‘Trust him,’ he murmured, as Lucius came down the stairs. ‘He trusts you.’

‘Elinor!’ The tone of Lucius’s voice was one Elinor had never heard from him before. His usual swaggering walk broke down as he ran towards his wife.

‘Lucius. Oh, Lucius.’ Wootten was forgotten as Elinor found herself swept up into Lucius’s arms. ‘I look a mess,’ she murmured, burying her head on his shoulder.

‘Yes.’ Lucius held her even more tightly. ‘Elinor, love, what happened?’

‘I ...’ Elinor lifted her head and caught sight of the footman, standing open-mouthed and staring. Wootten had disappeared, and Elinor thought that she would have to show her gratitude to him another time. She was not sure what might have happened if he had not been there. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she urged.

Lucius lifted her up and carried her to her room, setting her down on the bed as gently as if she were made of glass. Elinor tried to smile.

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘No, I’m not,’ she confessed.

‘I’ve been so worried. Elinor – tell me. Tell me everything.’

Elinor took a deep, shaky, breath and began to relate the events of the evening. Lucius grew paler as she spoke; and she found it hard to meet his eyes as she told how she had kissed Sir Hugo in an attempt to bring him close enough for her to effect her escape. His hands gripped hers ever tighter. Then, back-tracking a bit from her escape, her face averted from Lucius, Elinor told of the things Sir Hugo had said – the horrible, suggestive comments he had made over and over again.

‘I will kill him,’ Lucius said grimly.

Elinor gave what was supposed to be a laugh, but which came out more like a sob. ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t true, but I couldn’t tell him that I’m so terrible that not even my own husband wants me, let alone any of his friends.’

‘What did you say?’ Lucius loosened his grip on her a little, allowing him to look into her face.

She smiled weakly, the expression betrayed by the tears that would insist on trickling down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Lucius. A decent wife wouldn’t even speak of such things. But I’ve never been good at “decent” and it seems I’m not better at “indecent”.’

‘I never said that.’

Elinor shut her eyes, trying to avoid the hurt expression she could see on Lucius’s face. ‘You didn’t need to.’ She took a breath. ‘Lucius, couldn’t we try again?’

‘I hurt you. I made you cry.’ Lucius’s voice was low. ‘I couldn’t forgive myself for that. I never thought–’

‘I don’t understand.’ Elinor’s mind was whirling. ‘You hated it. Hated me. I was terrible.’

‘How could you think that? It was the best night of my life. But you–’

‘I was so happy,’ she whispered. ‘So happy. That one night. And then you turned back to other women. I didn’t blame you: after all, it was our agreement. I was a wife to suit your convenience, one who would not complain about your affairs. I just hoped that sometimes there might be room for me also.’

He pulled back a little to look her straight in the eyes. ‘Since the day I married you, I have never been near another woman, dearest.’

Elinor wondered whether she had fallen into a dream world, where everything she had ever wanted was given to her. ‘Truthfully?’

‘On my honour.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I don’t say that it hasn’t been extremely frustrating at times, but once I had you, could you possibly think I would need or want anyone else?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, honestly.

‘Octavius told me you thought so, once. I did not believe him, truth be told, but when he urged me to tell you of my love, I could not do so. Forgive me my pride, but I thought that even if you did not want me, I could gain some self-respect back by persuading you that others still did. It did nothing but hurt us both, I see now.’

‘Of your ...’ Elinor hesitated, wondering whether she had imagined the word. ‘Love?’ she repeated shakily.

‘Yes. I married you because I loved you,’ Lucius said, sounding almost angry. ‘What other reason would I have?’

‘But you said …’

He stood up abruptly. ‘What was I supposed to do? You made it clear many years ago that you disliked me. I told myself I didn’t mind, made love to woman after woman in the hope it would help me get over you. But I never did. If I’d told you I loved you, would you have married me then? I knew you’d laugh in my face. But for your mother …’ He turned away. ‘I knew you’d do anything for her. God help me, I took advantage, and I should not have done that. I regret it. You should have married for love, as you deserved.’ He knelt beside the bed at her feet. ‘Forgive me, Elinor, if you can.’